#I rapidly aged in real time

[karniss-bg3]

🎶I wanna see my spider boi🎶

(Here he comes)

Oh LAWDY he comin'! 🎶Here he comes, here comes speed drider, he's a drider with eight legs. He's a drider and he's gonna be chasin' after heretics. He's gainin' on ya so ya better look alive, Praise his Majesty if you're gonna survive. Go speed drider, go speed drider, go speed drider, GO!🎶

[damndude69]

.

[chthonicgodling]

Celos and Pyralis have received like… nothing from me characterwise I have not figured out what their deal is at ALL they’re so baby still. they ARE however wreaking delighted constant havoc upon the palace as extremely hyperactive identical toddlers, which tbh I would expect nothing less from Maci’s first blonde children

meanwhile N, who literally shared a womb with these two, HER entire personality and childhood is mapped out to a T in my head so oops?? can you believe the triplets-or-lack-thereof are turning TWO somehow in about a month aaaaaaAAHGGGGGHHHH???

[mcmansionhell]

the motel room, or: on datedness

I.

Often I find myself nostalgic for things that haven't disappeared yet. This feeling is enhanced by the strange conviction that once I stop looking at these things, I will never see them again, that I am living in the last moment of looking. This is sense is strongest for me in the interiors of buildings perhaps because, like items of clothing, they are of a fashionable nature, in other words, more impermanent than they probably should be.

As I get older, to stumble on something truly dated, once a drag, is now a gift. After over a decade of real estate aggregation and the havoc it's wreaked on how we as a society perceive and decorate houses, if you're going to Zillow to search for the dated (which used to be like shooting fish in a barrel), you'll be searching aimlessly, for hours, to increasingly no avail, even with all the filters engaged. (The only way to get around this is locational knowledge of datedness gleaned from the real world.) If you try to find images of the dated elsewhere on the internet, you will find that the search is not intuitive. In this day and age, you cannot simply Google "80s hotel room" anymore, what with the disintegration of the search engine ecosystem and the AI generated nonsense and the algorithmic preference for something popular (the same specific images collected over and over again on social media), recent, and usually a derivative of the original search query (in this case, finding material along the lines of r/nostalgia or the Backrooms.)

To find what one is looking for online, one must game the search engine with filters that only show content predating 2021, or, even better, use existing resources (or those previously discovered) both online and in print. In the physical world of interiors, to find what one is looking for one must also now lurk around obscure places, and often outside the realm of the domestic which is so beholden to and cursed by the churn of fashion and the logic of speculation. Our open world is rapidly closing, while, paradoxically, remaining ostensibly open. It's true, I can open Zillow. I can still search. In the curated, aggregated realm, it is becoming harder and harder to find, and ultimately, to look.

But what if, despite all these changes, datedness was never really searchable? This is a strange symmetry, one could say an obscurity, between interiors and online. It is perhaps unintentional, and it lurks in the places where searching doesn't work, one because no one is searching there, or two, because an aesthetic, for all our cataloguing, curation, aggregation, hoarding, is not inherently indexable and even if it was, there are vasts swaths of the internet and the world that are not categorized via certain - or any - parameters. The internet curator's job is to find them and aggregate them, but it becomes harder and harder to do. They can only be stumbled upon or known in an outside, offline, historical or situational way. If to index, to aggregate, is, or at least was for the last 30 years, to profit (whether monetarily or in likes), then to be dated, in many respects, is the aesthetic manifestation of barely breaking even. Of not starting, preserving, or reinventing but just doing a job.

We see this online as well. While the old-web Geocities look and later Blingee MySpace-era swag have become aestheticized and fetishized, a kind of naive art for a naive time, a great many old websites have not received the same treatment. These are no less naive but they are harder to repackage or commodify because they are simple and boring. They are not "core" enough.

As with interiors, web datedness can be found in part or as a whole. For example, sites like Imgur or Reddit are not in and of themselves dated but they are full of remnants, of 15-year old posts and their "you, sir, have won the internet" vernacular that certainly are. Other websites are dated because they were made a long time ago by and for a clientele that doesn't have a need or the skill to update (we see this often with Web 2.0 e-commerce sites that figured out how to do a basic mobile page and reckoned it was enough). The next language of datedness, like the all-white landlord-special interior, is the default, clean Squarespace restaurant page, a landing space that's the digital equivalent of a flyer, rarely gleaned unless someone needs a menu, has a food allergy or if information about the place is not available immediately from Google Maps. I say this only to maintain that there is a continuity in practices between the on- and off-line world beyond what we would immediately assume, and that we cannot blame everything on algorithms.

But now you may ask, what is, exactly, datedness? Having spent two days in a distinctly dated hotel room, I've decided to sit in utter boredom with the numinous past and try and pin it down.

II.

I am in an obscure place. I am in Saint-Georges, Quebec, Canada, on assignment. I am staying at a specific motel, the Voyageur. By my estimation the hotel was originally built in the late seventies and I'd be shocked if it was older than 1989. The hotel exterior was remodeled sometime in the 2000s with EIFS cladding and beige paint. Above is a picture of my room, which, forgive me, is in the process of being inhabited. American (and to a lesser extent Canadian) hotel rooms are some of the most churned through, renovated spaces in the world, and it's pretty rare, unless you're staying in either very small towns or are forced by economic necessity to stay at real holes in the wall, to find ones from this era. The last real hitter for me was a 90s Day's Inn in the meme-famous Breezewood, PA during the pandemic.

At first my reaction to seeing the room was cautionary. It was the last room in town, and certainly compared to other options, probably not the world's first choice. However, after staying in real, genuine European shitholes covering professional cycling I've become a class-A connoisseur of bad rooms. This one was definitively three stars. A mutter of "okay time to do a quick look through." But upon further inspection (post-bedbug paranoia) I came to the realization that maybe the always-new brainrot I'd been so critical of had seeped a teeny bit into my own subconscious and here I was snubbing my nose at a blessing in disguise. The room is not a bad room, nor is it unclean. It's just old. It's dated. We are sentimental about interiors like this now because they are disappearing, but they are for my parents what 2005 beige-core is for me and what 2010s greige will become for the generation after. When I'm writing about datedness, I'm writing in general using a previous era's examples because datedness, by its very nature, is a transitional status. Its end state is the mixed emotion of seeing things for what they are yet still appreciating them, expressed here.

Datedness is the period between vintage and contemporary. It is the sentiment between quotidian and subpar. It is uncurated and preserved only by way of inertia, not initiative. It gives us a specific feeling we don't necessarily like, one that is deliberately evoked in the media subcultures surrounding so-called "liminal" spaces: the fuguelike feeling of being spatially trapped in a time while our real time is passing. Datedness in the real world is not a curated experience, it is only what was. It is different from nostalgia because it is not deliberately remembered, yearned for or attached to sweetness. Instead, it is somehow annoying. It is like stumbling into the world of adults as a child, but now you're the adult and the child in you is disappointed. (The real child-you forgot a dull hotel room the moment something more interesting came along.) An image of my father puts his car keys on the table, looks around and says, "It'll do." We have an intolerance for datedness because it is the realization of what sufficed. Sufficiency in many ways implies lack.

However, for all its datedness, many, if not all, of the things in this room will never be seen again if the room is renovated. They will become unpurchaseable and extinct. Things like the bizarrely-patterned linoleum tile in the shower, the hose connecting to the specific faucet of the once-luxurious (or at least middling) jacuzzi tub whose jets haven't been exercised since the fall of the Berlin Wall. The wide berth of the tank on the toilet. There is nothing, really, worth saving about these things. Even the most sentimental among us wouldn't dare argue that the items and finishes in this room are particularly important from a design or historical standpoint. Not everything old has a patina. They're too cheaply made to salvage. Plastic tile. Bowed plywood. The image-artifacts of these rooms, gussied up for Booking dot com, will also, inevitably disappear, relegated to the dustheap of web caches and comments that say "it was ok kinda expensive but close to twon (sic)." You wouldn't be able to find them anyway unless you were looking for a room.

One does, of course, recognize a little bit of design in what's here. Signifiers of an era. The wood-veneer of the late 70s giving way to the pastel overtones of the 80s. Perhaps even a slow 90s. The all-in-one vanity floating above the floor, a modernist basement bathroom hallmark. White walls as a sign of cleanliness. Gestures, in the curved lines of the nightstands, towards postmodernity. Metallic lamp bases with wide-brimmed shades, a whisper of glamor. A kind of scalloped aura to the club chairs. The color teal mediated through hundreds if not thousands of shoes. Yellowing plastic, including the strips of "molding" that visually tie floor to wall. These are remnants (or are they intuitions?) of so many movements and micromovements, none of them definite enough to point to the influence of a single designer, hell, even of a single decade, just strands of past-ness accumulated into one thread, which is cheapness. Continuity exists in the materials only because everything was purchased as a set from a wholesale catalog.

In some way a hotel is supposed to be placeless. Anonymous. Everything tries to be that way now, even houses. Perhaps because we don't like the way we spy on ourselves and lease our images out to the world so we crave the specificity of hotel anonymity, of someplace we move through on our way to bigger, better or at least different things. The hotel was designed to be frictionless but because it is in a little town, it sees little use and because it sees little use, there are elements that can last far longer than they were intended and which inadvertently cause friction. (The janky door unlocks with a key. The shower hose keeps coming out of the faucet. It's deeply annoying.)

Lack of wear and lack of funds only keep them that way. Not even the paper goods of the eighties have been exhausted yet. Datedness is not a choice but an inevitability. Because it is not a choice, it is not advertised except in a utilitarian sense. It is kept subtle on the hotel websites, out of shame. Because it does not subscribe to an advertiser's economy of the now, of the curated type rather than the "here is my service" type, it disappears into the folds of the earth and cannot be searched for in the way "design" can. It can only be discovered by accident.

When I look at all of these objects and things, I do so knowing I will never see them again, at least not all here together like this, as a cohesive whole assembled for a specific purpose. I don't think I'll ever have reason to come back to this town or this place, which has given me an unexpected experience of being peevish in my father's time. Whenever I end up in a place like this, where all is as it was, I get the sense that it will take a very long time for others to experience this sensation again with the things my generation has made. The machinations of fashion work rapaciously to make sure that nothing is ever old, not people, not rooms, not items, not furniture, not fabrics, not even design, that old matron who loves to wax poetic about futurity and timelessness. The plastic-veneered particleboard used here is now the bedrock of countless landfills. Eventually it will become the chemical-laced soil upon which we build our condos. It is possible that we are standing now at the very last frontier of our prior datedness. The next one has not yet elided. It's a special place. Spend a night. Take pictures.

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[rafesangelita]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ when farmer’s!daughter!reader’s father goes out of town to visit some family, her and cowboy!rafe can’t keep their hands to themselves any longer.

warnings: reader is a little bit on the shy side, flirty banter, use of petnames, implied age gap (rafe is 7-10 years older), hint of jealous!rafe, reader refers to her father as ‘daddy’, mentions of sneaking around, slowburn (kinda?), lotsss of sexual tension, fluff, mutual pining, oral (f. receiving), fingering, finger sucking, unprotected sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, cream pie, squirting, multiple orgasms

a/n: based loosely off of the moodboard + headcanons i wrote here <3 saddle up because this is a long one lol

wc: 4.8k

“you gonna keep staring at me or are you gonna help me out here?” rafe grunted, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he watched you blink away from his form. you looked up from his shirtless figure, his skin glistening with sweat as butterflies fluttered in your chest. “what do you need?” you chirped, blinking rapidly as if to shake away the thoughts of pressing wet kisses to his waistline. “a cold glass of water sounds good right now.” you obliged, rafe watching as you went up the porch stairs in your cute little boots, his eyes falling down to your backside. “fuck.” he muttered to himself.

if he knew he’d have to fight the urge to touch his boss’s pretty daughter, he would’ve hesitated in taking the job. eight months had felt like an eternity when you pranced around the farm in the prettiest dresses and shortest daisy duke shorts he’s ever seen. you came back with a glass of water, taking a sip before handing it to him. expecting rafe to turn the glass around to take a drink from the other side of the rim, your cheeks heated when he placed his mouth on the same spot your lips were on just moments ago. “thanks, sweetheart.” rafe shot you a wink, his charm making you look away shyly.

you plopped down on a nearby tree stump, a pout taking over your features as you looked at the empty driveway. your father had only been gone for a few hours, not nearly making a dent in the five days he’ll be away. “you don’t have to worry about him, y’know? he’s a strong man.” rafe decided he needed a break from being hunched over under the hood of his truck, his chest rising and falling as he took a seat on the bed of fluffy grass next to you. “i know..” you muttered, “it’s just— he’s so much older now, i worry about him.” you looked down at rafe, his eyes already trained on you.

rafe nodded. “that man can survive anything. wasn’t he in his truck when a tornado came and swept him off the ground?” you gasped, a laugh escaping your lips. “he told you that story?!” you squealed excitedly, your reaction making rafe melt into a puddle of nothing. you were too cute. “did he also tell you the part where that didn’t really happen? him and his buddy just got real close to it.” rafe’s face morphed into one of pure shock. “he lied?!” you threw your head back in laughter, a snort following shortly after. it was rafe’s turn to laugh, the sound unfamiliar to his ears.

“oh my god, excuse me. i can’t believe i just did that!” you clasped a hand over your mouth, embarrassment creeping up onto your face. the man next to you waved you off. “why would he lie about that?” rafe leaned back on his hands, giving you a full view of his chiseled abs. sighing dreamily, you shrugged. “he’s a drama queen sometimes, he likes the theatrics.” realizing that you just swooned over his muscles, rafe cleared his throat before getting back to work. he respected your father too much to give in to his filthy desires, or so he hoped.

swallowing the lump of rejection in your throat, you made your way inside where you decided to watch him from your bedroom window instead. your infatuation with this man only grew by the day, and it was becoming really hard to hide your adoration for him. all the times he slipped you a little wink when your father wasn’t looking, the playing of footsies under the table while your father ranted about the economy, the lingering stares and touches.. you weren’t crazy, you had every right to believe this man was interested in you in some way, shape, or form.

apart of you wanted to believe that rafe was trying to maintain in being a gentleman towards you, but there’s nothing you wanted more than for him to hold off all kind of honor and respect for you while he takes you however he wants. you daydreamed about being fucked in a headlock by him, along with being put into twenty other positions. letting out a sigh, you fell back on your bed, fiddling with the ribbon that was tied to the belt loop of your shorts. how on earth were you going to go about these next few days all alone with him?

night time rolled around, and rafe had just come inside for a shower. “are you hungry?” you watched as he rolled his shoulders back, cracking his neck to release some pressure of today’s labor. “yeah, but i’ll help myself. don’t worry about it, ‘sugar.” he groaned before shutting the bathroom door behind him. you knew he wouldn’t, days like this always ended in rafe knocking out as soon as he hit his bed, empty stomach or not. the only thing rafe could think about as the hot water pattered against his back, was how you were in the same house as him in nothing but a night dress.

he wondered if you’d let him hike it up your thighs.. if you’d allow him to slip his fingers underneath the soft material. so badly, he wanted to see your face twist in pleasure underneath him, he ached to see that day. rafe let out a shuddering breath, swallowing thickly as lewd images of you ran through his head. he imagined your hands trailing down his torso, those cherry red painted fingers of yours wrapped tightly around his cock. you had this man questioning everything he ever knew about being a gentlman. rafe rubbed the sides of his face, his eyes screwing shut as he attempted to get all inappropriate thoughts about you out of his head.

he remembered seeing you for the first time all those months ago. you were wearing a red gingham dress, your hair styled so pretty and neat. he knew immediately that he was in trouble when you flashed him that million dollar smile when your father introduced you two. it wasn’t long before both of you started flirting with each other, even going as far as touching each other when you didn’t have to. rafe would ‘help’ you up on your horse, his hands planted on the globes of your ass as he hoisted you onto the saddle. he swore he died and came back to life whenever you’d place a hand on him every time he made you laugh.

slowly but surely, you two were getting more bolder with your moves. while rafe was ogling your goodies more often than not, you started leaving your curtains open whenever you’d change, knowing he could see you from the view of his window. pinching the bridge of his nose, rafe quickly hurried up in the shower, feeling the need to relieve himself in his own space where he knew you’d be far away from. after washing away all the dirt and grime, he felt clean as he dried himself off, only for his peace to come crashing down when he realized he didn’t bring an extra change of clothes with him.

with no other choice but to walk out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, he tried to sneak pass you in the kitchen and out the back door, but of course he wasn’t so lucky. “i know you said you would make yourself something, but—” you turned around with a loaded dinner plate in your hand, the dish nearly slipping out of your grip when you saw the tall cowboy standing awkwardly with his hands on his hips.

your eyes trailed down his stomach, the sight of his happy trail making you swallow thickly. rafe took note of this, his heart beating in his chest as you averted your gaze elsewhere. “uhm, well i made you this.. i know it’s one of your favorites..” you placed the plate of steak and mashed potatoes on the table, turning around as you took your bottom lip between your teeth. this was absolute torture. “it looks amazing, i’ll just get some clothes on and be right back.” he held onto the towel, jogging to his place where he slipped on a pair of pajama pants and a dingy white t-shirt.

“you didn’t have to do this,” rafe took a seat at the table, his jaw ticking when you bent over the counter to grab a couple of drinking glasses, “thank you.” at this point he didn’t know if he was thanking you for the food, or the perfect view of your ass. “water?” you looked at him from over your shoulder, your cheeks heating when you saw his eyes shoot away from your backside. “a beer please.” you smiled at his answer. you should’ve known he’d pick that out after a full day of work. grabbing a bottle from the fridge, you handed it to him, his fingers brushing yours as you took a seat across from him.

“my dad makes it a lot better than i do, so—” rafe was quick to cut you off, a moan leaving his lips as he chewed. “this is.. damn!” you giggled, shaking your head. “it’s great, darlin’. truly.” he nodded approvingly, flashing you a thumbs up. you smiled that smile of yours before tasting it yourself. despite all the tension between you two, you could always count on each other to talk the other’s ear off. “wait. so you’re telling me that you’re actually from an island? why on earth would you live out in the middle of nowhere when you had the beach in your backyard?” you asked incredulously.

rafe took a swig from his beer, a bittersweet laugh leaving his lips. “i got into a ‘lotta bad shit over there. i was on some bad shit,” he sighed, “being out here brings me peace.. even if i’m breaking my back everyday.” you listened closely, giving him your full attention as he told you more about the place he was from. you learned that he used to be a filthy rich boy with a house bigger than you could ever imagine. rafe smiled softly, a solemn expression taking over his features. “it’s very nice. but i wouldn’t go back.” he leaned back in his chair.

you tilted your head at him, both of your plates empty. “no? how come?” you leaned forward, your cleavage peeking out of your neckline. eyes flickering down to your chest, rafe seemed to get flustered when he felt your foot trail up his leg. “well,” he zeroed in on your lips, “i see myself settling down out here, ‘havin some little ones.” your breath hitched, a smidge of jealousy now residing in your gut. as if he could read your mind, he caught your foot under the table, his thumb stroking your ankle. “old habits seem to die hard, huh?” rafe laughed.

pushing away the jealousy, you nodded, feeling a new profound sense of confidence with the way he was looking at you right now. “yeah, i guess i forgot we’re here all by ourselves.. ‘don’t really have to hide from anyone..” you yawned, your head falling back on your chair as your night gown rode up your thighs. just a few inches higher, and rafe would finally see what he’s been fantasizing about all this time. “yeah..” he crossed his arms, his biceps looking especially good right now. you two stayed quiet, just looking at each other as if everything was threatening to rise to the surface.

do something! you thought to yourself, hoping rafe could magically hear you and grab you from across the table. instead, he looked away, letting go of your foot before scooting out from the table. “dinner was really good, but i better head off to bed, now.” he didn’t let you say anything before he left in a haste. what. the. fuck. you got up, watching him curse to himself from the kitchen window. you couldn’t help but feel defeated. rafe was always the one pulling away from you, no matter how close you two got, he always left you high and dry.

once you cleaned everything up, and you were left lying by yourself in your bed, you decided everything would change. if he pulled away from you, surely you should do the same.

you woke up the next morning to the sound of rafe’s truck engine roaring to life. rubbing your eyes, you shielded your face from the morning sun, deciding to get your day started as soon as possible. within an hour, you were stepping outside, walking over to where rafe was smiling brightly behind the steering wheel. “i got it working, sweetheart! should we go for a ride?” damn him, he knew how much you loved to be passenger princess in his two seater-beater. you cleared your throat, already hating yourself as you said no. “i don’t think so.. i got a lot of stuff to do today.”

rafe watched you go back in the house, his jaw ticking in response. the only thing you had to do today was sit and look pretty. not to mention, for as long as rafe has been here, you never, ever, rejected going on a little drive with him. that’s how he immediately knew something wasn’t right, and he’d bet all of his money that it had something to do with last night. taking the keys out of the ignition, rafe decided that if you weren’t going to go for a ride with him, then he wasn’t going either. considering he did everything he needed to do yesterday, rafe settled for going inside to tidy up his place.

you walked around the house aimlessly, a book in your hand as you kept glancing outside to see if you could spot rafe anywhere. you didn’t. letting out a groan, you looked at the clock on the wall. it was already half past noon. you debated on whether or not you should take him some lunch, your leg bouncing as you tried to weigh out your options here. on one hand, you could bring rafe lunch, try to talk some stuff out, and on the other hand, you could just leave things be like you promised yourself you would. you knew rafe wasn’t stupid, surely he’d catch on to you soon.

just as you decided against bothering him, there was a knock at the front door. eyebrows knitting in confusion, you opened the door to see your childhood best friend, wyatt. “wyatt!” you squealed, throwing your arms around him as he pulled you close to him by your waist. “oh my, lord! when did you come back from the city?!” you welcomed him in, motioning for him to come inside. “i just finished my second semester, so i’ll be in town for a while. i drove out here just last night, ‘decided to surprise my folks.” he smiled, his expression softening once you urged him to take a seat at the kitchen table.

“i didn’t see your old man’s truck out front..” he sat down, taking his hat off and placing it on the table. “oh, yeah.. he’s out of town visiting my aunt.” you leaned back on the counter, your eyes flickering at his hair. he looked so much different now. “wow, you’re uh— you look really good.” you complimented. “yeah, i’m not lanky anymore,” wyatt laughed, “you look gorgeous as always, though.” his gaze ran down your dress, the sight of your bare thighs making him clear his throat. “well, i didn’t just want to come by and say hi, i actually wanted to ask you something—”

rafe barged in before wyatt could finish his sentence.

“who’s this?” he stared between you two, the jealousy in his blue eyes very, very evident. you smiled innocently as wyatt got up, extending a hand for rafe to shake. “hello, sir. i’m an old friend of y/n’s here, ‘was just coming to visit her.” rafe looked down at wyatt’s palm, keeping both of his hands tucked in his pockets. “well, you two might wanna hurry this up, y/n’s father doesn’t know about any visitors coming to his home.” rafe walked around him, opening the fridge for a beer. “daddy isn’t home though, isn’t he?” you spoke up, in which rafe turned around. “what was that?” he asked.

you two were glaring at each other now. “my dad isn’t here,” you repeated, “and besides, he knows wyatt. ‘thinks of him as a son, right?” rafe’s grip on his beer bottle tightened, a smile playing on his lips when he glanced over at your friend. “yeah.” wyatt nodded. rafe was seeing red, he couldn’t stand to look at you and wyatt standing so close to each other any longer. turning around, rafe listened in as wyatt asked to take you out to dinner. “aw, i would love to! what time should i be ready?”rafe shut his eyes momentarily. you said yes to wyatt too fast for his liking. “how does eight o’clock sound?”

you hummed, nodding excitedly as wyatt made his way to the front door. “alright, it’s a date then. see ‘ya!” you waved at him until his truck disappeared down the dirt road. walking back into the kitchen, rafe was staring you down as you acted like you didn’t just agree to go on a date in front of him. “what do you think you’re playing at?” he narrowed his eyes at you. “if you’re acting out because of last night—” you cut him off. “don’t talk about me ‘acting out’ when you’re the one who decided to run back to your little shed when i was giving you an open opportunity.” you cut in.

“an open opportunity to do what?” rafe’s voice was firm as he stepped closer to you, his beer long forgotten on the counter as he gripped your arm. you failed miserably at trying not to look down at his lips. “it doesn’t even matter now. you obviously don’t want it,” you softened, “don’t want me..” rafe couldn’t believe his ears. you were all that this man thought about. he woke up thinking of what pretty outfit you would wear for the day, and went to sleep wishing you were by his side. “don’t want you?” he repeated, loosening his grip on your skin. “you just have no fucking clue.” rafe stepped back.

“you’re the only thing that i want.” he laughed bitterly, shaking his head as he made his way outside to the back house. you stared at him in shock. all this time you wondered if something was wrong with you because he never made a real move to pursue you, but now all of a sudden after you agree to go on a date he wants to express how he feels? and has the nerve to walk off right after? fuck that. you pushed the back door open, the old wood slamming back against the house as rafe spun around on his heels. “so why do you walk away from me?!” you shouted, both of your chests rising and falling.

“what are you talking about?” you stepped down the stairs, shoving rafe in the chest. “why do you leave every time things start to go somewhere?” his eyes bore into yours, “i’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. have you ever thought that maybe i want you too?” those were the words rafe needed to hear before he cupped your face and dragged you off your feet. his lips were soft against your own, his calloused hands pulling you close to him as your arms wrapped around his neck. he groaned at the taste of you, his tongue slipping in your mouth before you could process what was happening.

rafe kissed you hard and slow, as if to savor you before he led you two to his place, the door barely shutting before he had you pinned to his neatly made bed. “i’ve wanted you the moment your father introduced us, that’s the truth.” he slotted himself between your thighs, cupping your tits through your dress. you moaned, his hips grinding against your clothed cunt. “why would you wait all this time then?” you whimpered when he started pressing kisses to the curve of your neck, his calloused hands feeling you up as they roamed your soft flesh. “well for starters, i have a lot of respect for your pops..”

you sighed, completely forgetting about the old man. “and?” rafe pulled the straps of your dress down until the material pooled at your waist. leaning back on his heels, rafe marveled at the sight of your bare chest, your tits looking more perfect than he imagined. “..and right now, all the respect i have is going out the door.” you cried out when he leaned down, his lips wrapping around a sensitive bud while he used his other hand to snake beneath the waistband of your panties. you blinked up at the ceiling, your hips bucking when you felt his rough fingers stroke your clit.

“that feels so good, ray.” you keened, the weight of his body providing you a sense of safety and comfort. rafe felt like he was under a spell. with your sweet voice in his ear, and his fingers working to get you soaked and ready for him, he couldn’t wait to taste you any longer. pulling away from you, rafe slid your dress and underwears off in one swift motion, a shiver running down your spine when he slowly spread your thighs apart. “you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.” he licked his lips, glancing up at your heated face. your heart bloomed in your chest, your hand finding his cheek.

“please. i’ve wanted this for eight months.” you confessed, your words sending rafe into overdrive. without another thought, rafe took your thighs and placed them on his shoulders, delving into your wetness with a groan. instinctively, your back arched up from his bed, your hands flying to rest on top of his own. you squeezed his fingers, a string of babbles falling from your lips as rafe’s tongue flicked against your sensitive bundle of nerves. rafe watched as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyebrows knitting together as pure bliss etched itself onto your face.

“you okay?” rafe pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, wanting to make sure it wasn’t too much for you before continuing. “mhmm, yes!” you looked down, the image of rafe’s chin, lips, and even the tip of his nose glistening with your slick was now forever ingrained in your brain. smiling to himself, rafe got back to work, but this time with his fingers prodding at your entrance. “might be a bit uncomfortable at first, but i promise it’ll feel so good, baby.” you nodded, putting all your trust in him before you felt the delicious stretch of his digits inside your cunt.

“fuck!” you squealed, your thighs threatening to snap shut around his head. rafe curled his digits, your eyes screwing shut as he continuously pressed that soft spot inside of you. rafe didn’t stop his skillful movements on your clit, an unfamiliar feeling starting to swirl in your core. rafe cursed at the wet sounds emitting from your pussy, his cock hard and aching to get inside of you already. you gasped when he kept suckling on your sensitive bud, your stomach caving in when he pressed a hand to your tummy. before you could think, white hot pleasure blinded your vision, your entire body jolting as the first wave of your orgasm washed over you.

rafe felt the way you pulsed around his digits, wishing so badly that it was his cock instead. eyes flickering up to your face, he groaned when he saw the way your face twisted in pure bliss, your legs shaking as you felt the sudden urge to pull away from him. “rafe, wait!” you cried out, a sob ripping itself from your throat when a stream of wetness suddenly soaked rafe’s chin, your decadence streaming down his neck as he moaned against your cunt. you stared down at him with wide eyes, your mouth parting in suprise when he slipped his digits in his mouth.

“i- i don’t know what that was!” you gasped, cheeks heating in embarrassment. licking a final stripe up your folds, rafe smiled as he shook his head. “you just squirted, baby, get used to it.” his length rested on top of your tummy, hot and heavy, as he threaded his fingers with yours. “gonna fuck you until you’re carrying my baby..” your heart swelled, recalling his words from last night. “were you talking about me? when you said you wanted little ones..” rafe looked into your eyes, the sincerity in his gaze making you feel warm and fuzzy inside. “you’re the only woman i envision. future and present.”

cupping his face softly, you brought his lips down to meet your own, the head of his cock slipping into your entrance. you let out a shuddering breath, nodding slowly as he pushed the rest of his length inside your greedy walls. you swore you died and went to heaven when he starting rocking into you, both of you moaning in unison. “rafe?” you whimpered, gazing up at him with teary eyes, “shit— yeah, sweetheart?” the man on top of you thumbed your chin, a concerned expression taking over his features. you could tell rafe was holding back with the way he was hesitating with every thrust.

“harder, please.” you asked sweetly, rafe obliging without another thought. soon, you were a crying mess, your eyes barely staying open as rafe put you in a mating press. he was already reaching new depths in regular missionary, so when he placed your legs over his shoulders and caged you between his arms, you were hysterical as his tip kissed your cervix. “oh, god!” you screamed, your nails digging into rafe’s skin as he fucked you stupid. “can’t..” you shook your head, the feeling of his cock filling you to the hilt was increasingly becoming too much to handle.

"yes you can, sugar. look how good you're taking it all.." rafe cradled your head, making you look down at where you two were connected. you moaned at the sight, his cock shining with your slick. rafe kept his hands beneath your head, kissing you softly as his pubic bone began hitting your clit. “m’gonna make you the prettiest mommy this town has ever seen, just watch.” he chuckled, his forehead falling in the curve of your neck. you ran your fingers across his buzzed scalp, the word ‘promise?’ lingering on your tongue. “is that what you want? ‘want me to breed you until you’re all pretty and round?”

you cried out, rafe’s hips stuttering as he felt his climax creeping up on him. “yes, yes, yes—” you repeated yourself like a broken record, rafe’s name falling from your lips like a mantra. “oh, fuck!” he cursed, teeth grazing your flesh as he spilled into you, your second orgasm making you squeeze around him like a vice. rafe stilled, making sure to keep stroking your clit so he could draw out your high for as long as possible. slipping his thumb in your mouth, you shamelessly sucked on the digit as you trembled beneath him, his hot load filling you up.

you two stayed panting against each other’s mouths until your highs subsided, a light sheen of sweat coating both of your skin’s. pulling out with a grunt, rafe rolled over, pulling you with him so he could spoon you. letting out a sigh, you reveled in the warm sun streaming through his window, the light casting off of your face and illuminating the walls. “that was worth the wait, don’t you think?” if it wasn’t for the feeling of your limbs being jelly, you would’ve turned around and landed a playful smack to his chest. instead, you hummed, your eyes heavy with sleep. “we’re not keeping this from my father, rafe.”

your voice was hoarse as you spoke. “no. no, we’re not.” he kissed your shoulder. “you should probably give that guy wayne a call, ‘tell him you’re not going on that date after all.” you giggled, a shiver going down your spine as his large palm rubbed circles into your back. “wyatt, rafe. his name is wyatt. i only told him yes to rile you up.” you teased. rafe knew that, but it still pissed him off nonetheless. “i’ll cancel in a minute, ‘sir.” you used wyatt’s formalities towards rafe earlier against him, earning you a light pinch to your side. “that asshole. ‘really called me sir as if i’m that old.” he shook his head, waiting for you to disagree.

“well..” you trailed off, bursting into laughter when he attacked you with sloppy kisses.

[sanemistar]

drop the act — satoru gojo

contents ★ fem!reader, fake dating to real lovers, fluff, 0.8k+ wc. ﾉ requested for my milestone event.

event m.list ★ jjk m.list

“let’s just stop.” satoru’s announcement came out of the blue. his tone came off serious and firm, which was quite uncharacteristic of him. it took you by surprise, a dumbfounded expression was written all over your face. even though you knew that this whole ‘fake’ relationship situation wouldn’t last long and that it was bound to come to an end sooner or later the moment he found someone he truly loved, and although you prepared yourself for that day, you just couldn’t help but feel a hint of sadness and hurt as your heart clenched painfully inside your chest.

why? because what first started as nothing but a mere attraction, a show to stop your parents’ constant nagging about you not seeing anyone at you age while most of your peers had gotten married already, turned to real and genuine feelings of love. as time passed by since the start of your relationship with him, you found yourself helplessly fall for satoru and those sweet, tender acts of his. the way your name slipped off his lips ever so sweetly, and how it rung into your ears like a serenade. how he took your hand into his as they fitted perfectly, like two puzzle pieces that complete one another. how he casually threw his arms around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world to do for him.

you knew that all of his sweet actions and gestures were all just a part of his act to make it seem as believable and convincing as possible, and he did exactly that. no one, not even your parents, had a single doubt that the two of you were really dating. to outsiders, your relationship was what they call 'goals'. not knowing that it was all just a show, a camouflage. although you knew it all along, but you couldn't help but fall for him.

satoru was your ideal type for what a lover should be, and you wanted to do nothing more than to confess your feelings for him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. after all, the two of you only ever agreed to do this was because there were no strings attached. it was only a matter of convenience for both you and him, since he also happened to be in the same situation as you. so when you asked for his help, he was more than willing to oblige.

you wanted to tell him not to leave you, to stay with you longer, that you’d gotten so used to being with him to the point where you weren't ready to live without him, that you needed him. just thinking about how the two of you would part ways from then on, and how satoru would eventually move on like nothing happened between the two of you and maybe even find himself someone whom he’d truly love almost made your head spiral out of control.

if only you had known your feelings for him would grow this intensely, you wouldn't have agreed to do this.

your body moved on its own as your hand grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. you swallowed a lump that was starting to form in your throat.

"do we really have to?" your voice was shaky as you sounded very desperate. your eyes were practically glued to the floor as you anxiously awaited for his answer, refusing to ever look up. your chest moved up and down rapidly as as result of your heavy breathing.

you heard him sigh as he removed your hand away.

"yes, it’s gotten really tiring having to keep up with this act." your heart sank at his response. it really was the ending, and you were trying your hardest to fight the tears that eagerly awaited to fall.

satoru reached his hand out and used his thumb to lift your chin up, forcing you to look at his beautiful sky blue eyes. his lips slightly parted as he began speaking.

“let’s drop the act, i love you for real.”

and the sudden declaration hit you like a truck, did he just say that he loved you? it took you a couple of long minutes to process his words and fully register them in your mind.

the seriousness and earnestness of his tone along with his unwavering gaze at you left no room for doubt, he definitely meant every word he said. and you couldn't believe what started as a mere act at first had actually become something real.

the anxious look on your face began to relax as all tension slowly escaped your body, replaced with a wave of joy and relief. you let a few happy tears fall down your crimson, red cheeks as a result of being overwhelmed with emotions, which satoru gently wiped.

"yeah, let's." you hummed, a soft smile made its way onto your face. you wrapped your arms securely around his neck as you stood on your tippy toes, whispering softly into his ears in a moment of genuine intimacy and affection which you had felt for the very first time.

"i love you, satoru." although it wasn't your first time saying those words to him, but this time it felt much different, much more meaningful.

he smiled softly and leaned closer as the distance between you and him was completely gone.

taglist: @sylusdoll @ayrastv @hanaeriin @spkyssn @stunies @kalsplace

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT ─── cillian murphy ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I am turned inside out by the ache in your voice, the taste of your tongue." — ‘Afternoon Masala: Poems’, Vandana Khanna

pairing. cillian murphy x actor!reader

summary. you and your co-star, cillian, are having a hard time performing a sex scene for your movie. they do say, however, practice makes perfect.

warnings. swearing, thigh-riding, creampie, p in v, unprotected sex, mentioned/implied age gap, probably inaccurate depictions of actor-life, mirror sex, slight breeding kink, kinda innocent reader(?), AU cillian murphy (not married/no kids), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 4.5k

a/n. this is not in any way meant to disrespect cillians wife😭 i js made this a not married AU to be convenient!

i.

“Cut - cut, cut!” The director repeated, his increasing irritation colouring his voice completely. “Now, I said it earlier, but—“

You scrubbed your face with a sigh, getting up off of Cillian and the desk, who was propping himself up by the elbows. “It’s not passionate enough,” you finished flatly for your director, who nodded earnestly. 

“I promise, this is as tiring for me as it is for you. Remember,” the director continued, the script half curled in his hands and making a thin flapping noise, “it’s the culmination of six months of pining. Six months of taboo, unrelenting, electric tension. Nothing more than stares in class and brief touches- you are supposed to be bordering feral for one another.”

You, and your co-star, Cillian, were currently filming the first sex scene of a movie portraying the forbidden, toxic love affair between a barely 18 teenage student and her much older teacher. Well, not exactly filming- you weren’t getting far with the scene, for the two of you just couldn’t get it right. Or, as the director liked to say, passionate enough. 

The role was already incredibly taxing, even without the added stress of the sex scene: it was 20 hour work days, living on set in a trailer far from home, having to devote at least half of those hours to filming this very sex scene, and had a perfectionist director like yours. 

The problem was that it was long, and the director wanted it done in one take. Brilliant man, he was, and had a love for this project you wished every director had for theirs, but he was adamant on it being done perfectly. He said it was intended to be the “primary and most iconic” scene of the entire film, for it was the crux of the story; the point of no return for the characters. 

“With all due respect, I’ve never imagined such a scenario, much less had experience. Just how can you expect me to portray a student-teacher romance accurately?“

“That’s your job: to imagine and perform.” The director demanded, obviously up to his ears in frustration.

Just before you retorted irately, Cillian cut in smoothly. “I think what she means,” he said, watching the veins in the director’s forehead nearly burst, “is that it’s hard to perform because it’s not common. S’easy to act in love because there’s love all around, yeah? We don’t have much to go off of, visually.”

The director’s gaze rapidly flitted between you and Cillian for a moment, before letting go of his anger and sighing wearily. “You’ve never even thought about a superior that way? Someone older than you?” he pressed, obviously joking and trying to lighten the set’s mood. 

You paused, and tried not to look at Cillian, your blatantly gorgeous forty-something co-star who was chosen for this role firstly, because of his stellar acting and secondly, because of how fucking attractive he was. 

His character was a total fucking creep, and you knew casting Cillian had been a calculated choice; all in the name of making the audience’s guard come down to be smacked in the face by his immorality later. He was meant to be charming, handsome, and terribly, totally, off-limits: the object of completely forbidden desire, the line your character was desperate to cross. 

It seemed the same in real life, too: the young inexperienced actress wanting to ignore those societal niceties and pine wholeheartedly over the middle-aged actor with decades of knowledge under his belt. 

You weren’t, like, in love or anything, but you certainly reveled in his presence: he was patient, kind, and completely understanding of your lack of experience, always guiding you through all the steps an actor takes during filming like when to take off hair and makeup, what best to say to family and friends prying for details- all the things, he said, he wished someone told him when he was first starting out. 

You were afraid you two had unknowingly fallen into a mentor-mentee dynamic, but there were always those spare moments, between hearty fits of laughter and silly conversation that you’d never expected to come from such an intimidating man as Cillian, where his rough hands would brush past your waist, gaze dragging up and down your body, sounding sensual and provocative despite nothing dirty leaving his mouth at all. 

He made your insides pulse, especially when your more intimate scenes came about, and you could only have a lusting woman’s pipedream that he felt the same. 

You still remember the first sequence you’d done with him: in the movie, your characters met after-class to make up for a missed exam, and it was the start of their corrupt attraction. Cillian had been pressed against your back, leaning over you to pressuringly peer at the test, large hand gripping your shoulder. The air felt steamy then, his body warm, low voice making you feel lightheaded as he recited his lines. 

You shivered at the remembrance of the moment, coming back to reality, and you answered the director’s question with a vehement shake of the head. 

The director let out a (strained) laugh, and smacked his palm lightly with the script, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Okay, we’ll - we’ll break for today. Take this extra time to imagine, research, anything- just practice the scene, alright? Practice makes perfect.” 

You and Cillian nodded simultaneously, giving eachother a look that just screamed “he’s ridiculous” before tearing away from each other's stare to return to your trailers. 

Later, you were getting ready to go to bed, peeling your freshly showered hair out of a small towel, when there was a knock at your trailer door. 

“One second,” you called out, pulling on your silk sleep shorts. You vaguely registered how awkward it might be to be seen in your pajamas if the director or one of your fellow actors came about, but you were way too tired to care. 

You did care, however, self-consciously crossing your arms and covering your thinly-clothed chest, when you opened the door and there on the steps stood your co-star, Cillian.

Before speaking, he looked you up and down, icy blue eyes gleaming behind an unfamiliar pair of tortoise shell frames. “You goin’ to bed?” he finally asked, tone husky. 

His gaze lingered on the bare skin of your legs for a few seconds longer and you shifted uncomfortably, crossing your ankles together in a poor attempt to hide yourself. 

“What do you need?” you asked briskly, more sharp than you meant it to be. 

“Sorry,” he corrected himself, shaking his head and finally looking you in the eye. “I meant’a come by earlier… got caught up. I know this, ah, sex scene is tripping us up, so…” he trailed off, lifting up the white script he’d been holding behind his back. “Y’up for some practice?”

You blinked rapidly at the simple, innocent request. Mere rehearsal, not some lecherous late-night escapade you’d been dreaming up in your mind. “Oh… yes, of course,” you nodded numbly, moving out of the way to let him step in. 

Only moments later, when he’d perched onto the edge of your vanity — looking uniquely casual in what you assumed was his version of pajamas: baggy gray sweatpants and a fitted, well-worn black t-shirt — did you realize the connotations of rehearsing your sex scene. 

Sure, it was all pre-determined, every word you’d say and every action you’d perform, but still. Saying- and doing, such suggestive things after-hours? That was beyond your dirtiest fantasies.

However, you shook yourself internally: Cillian had come to rehearse the scene with professional intentions. Honestly, he’d probably done so because he was tired of you messing up the scene. He could do his own part masterfully, and you knew that if it’d been a better, more experienced actress by his side, filming would’ve moved on ages ago. 

You took shaky, tentative steps near him, settling on your bed, watching him flip through the script— when he looked up and frowned. 

“What’re you doing? Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, almost a command. “We don’t have a desk, so we can use your vanity.”

You nodded, biting your lip and nervously complying with his words. “So, we’ll start from the beginning?” you asked, your voice -- and legs -- suddenly feeling terribly weak.

His eyes were still trained on the paper as he answered. “Not necessarily. The sex part s’really the only thing we’re having trouble with, yeah?” 

You gulped, throat dry. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

With that, he chanced one last look at the script, before diving into the scene. His actions were ones you were extremely familiar with, having attempted this scene everyday for at least a week now. 

His body turned to yours, hands coming up to your jaw, and pressing your back onto the table slightly. He held you tightly, and made you look at him, while delivering his lines softly, memorable Irish accent replaced by his character’s generic American one.

Jiltedly, you did the same, poorly remembering what you needed to say and dragging through it like some amateur. “Fuck, sorry,” you cursed suddenly, tearing away from his touch and sighing. 

He gave you a small, careful smile, immediately breaking out of character and taking a step away from the vanity. “No need t’be nervous. Practice makes perfect, right?” 

You snorted at his quoting of the director. “I just… I don’t know what he means by passionate. I’m trying to be professional about this but - but I’ve seriously never been in some steamy love-affair.”

“Can’t really expect that of you, can we? You’re too young, too much’ve a good girl for that kinda ‘ting.” He said, hand coming up to your shoulder, the one where your silk tanktop’s spaghetti strap had slipped off, rubbing it soothingly. 

You practically melted into a puddle at both the pet name and how the rough pads of his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin. You were so entranced you almost whined when he stopped and pulled up your fallen strap, but instead you wordlessly snatched the script that was dropped onto the table and found one of the lines, inhaling sharply and readying yourself. 

Your hand came up to tug on the sleeve of Cillian’s shirt, as dictated by the script. “Sir, please,” you whispered out in your character’s high pitched voice, “I - I… want you to touch me.”

“This is -- wrong. I’m your teacher, and I…” Cillian responded, swiftly back in character, the back of his palm grazing your cheek. “I gotta break your heart, darling.”

You looked up at Cillian, summoning crocodile tears to fill your gaze. “Please. I need you.” Then, one of your clammy hands ran down Cillian’s chest as you spoke, like it did back on set. “I think of you, at night. I soaked through my shorts the day you scolded me.”

You heard Cillian’s breath hitch- his character, you reminded yourself. “Fucking hell… I think of you in class, sweetheart,” he growled out perfectly. 

So far, so good, you thought. It wasn’t awkward, and was already miles better than the lackluster performances you’d given previously. You continued by leaning into Cillian’s touch, making him sit on the vanity— the part of the scene you’d gotten to this morning, before the director called cut.

This time, however, Cillian’s actions differed from the ones he was supposed to perform: instead of petting the crown of your head, his fingers trailed down your hips, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ll be good for you, sir,” you recited, face growing hot as his hand inched closer to the curve of your ass. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

Cillian’s gaze had darkened now, flitting over your features. He didn’t say his line - or, had at least missed the timing, and you removed your hands from his body worriedly. “Are you alright—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Cillian had grabbed you by the ass, switching your places and setting you down on the edge of the vanity. 

“Cillian!“ you squeaked out, the only thing you could really say as you processed what exactly just happened. Your mind was swimming with confusion — and anticipation — as he stood before you, legs pressing on either side of your knees and trapping you on the vanity. 

“Improv,” he promised quietly in his telltale Irish accent, a sly wink appearing on his sharp features. 

You bit your lip, nodded, and repeated your line. You trusted him to guide you — and the rehearsal — because, as mentioned before, he did these kinds of things often. If he thought you’d act better if you sat on the vanity, you’d sit on the vanity. 

His hand then pet your hair, the other hand coming up to your chin and making you look up at him. “Whatever I want?” he murmured, back on track with the script. 

You bat your lashes at him. “Everything. I’m yours.”

Now, this is where you thought Cillian would stop— because after your line came the kissing and the touching and the heavy petting: all things you thus far hadn’t filmed at all, because you couldn’t even get the dialogue out right. 

Instead, he leaned down and began to press hungry kisses down your neck, making you gasp.

“What are you—“

“Shh,” he demanded softly, “it's all part of the scene, remember?”

You blinked dumbly, mouth opening and closing, unable to register a coherent thought or word. He said it was part of the scene but you’d read that script, and his teeth nipping lightly at your skin was not written anywhere within it.

But, you gulped down your thoughts, and belted out several more of your lines in tandem to his own. With his other hand gripping your thigh so tight you thought it might bruise, you were starting to think that maybe this was one of those lecherous late-night escapades you were dreaming of. 

All you’d been doing was acting, like he’d asked, but still, you could see clear as day how that’d affect him— how easily it could be to succumb. After all, you were just barely restraining yourself from jumping his bones: how could you not, with his gorgeous face just inches away from yours?

Well, acting or not, you’d enjoy every minute of this.

When one of his hands began playing with the waistband of your shorts as he suckled on your pulse, that just right spot on your neck, you couldn’t help the whimper that left your mouth. 

However, the noise seemed to startle him; jumpshock him back to reality, and your suspicions became completely confirmed when he pulled away from you roughly. 

“Fuck, I’m—“ a pained grimace washed over his features, looking you up and down like he just realized what he’d been doing. “I don’t know what came over me, I— shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

You stared at him, body disappointed at the lack of touch, watching him press his pink lips into a conflicted white line. “What - what d’you mean?”

His gaze coursed over your every feature, so intently you thought he was admiring your face. “I can’t— we can’t happen. Y’too young, you’re, you’re too…”

“Then we can stop. If that’s what you want,” you murmured coyly, hand coming up to pick a piece of thread off his thin shirt. “But only if you ask. C’mon, say it: I don’t want you and I want this to stop.”

He groaned, biting his lip. “Don’t do that. I can’t do that.”

“Do what?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Tease. Because you know I won’t tell you to stop. ‘Cause I won’t be able to fucking control m’self,” he grumbled, before pressing a desperate, deep kiss to your lips, pulling you off the vanity and continuing down your chest.

“Then don’t. Take me for everything I have,” you whined, following his every move and manhandling touch. 

He breathed heavily between kisses. “Saying those kinds’a words with that pretty voice of yours… fuck, you’re doing things to me.” 

Your hands were trailing all over his body, and then you tugged his shirt off, desperate to feel him. He had similar thoughts, fingers dipping into your silk shorts and petting your hot mound. 

“Need you,” you panted, and, at your words, he suddenly tore off your silk shorts and panties in one clean go, making you shiver.

He then sat down on your vanity chair and roughly grabbed you by the hips to place yourself onto one of his thighs. The thick fabric of his sweatpants, taking in your wetness like a sponge, made you wince.

“Go on then,” he demanded darkly, “get y’self off on my fucking thigh. Show me how bad you need me.”

You bit your lip, face burning with shame at the order. But there was an aching need in your gut, and the way he crossed his arms, watching and waiting for you to get the hell on with it, had you clenching around his thigh.

Your hands gripped onto his shoulders, and you began slowly rutting against him, the soft fabric of his pants doing poor work for pleasuring your core. You pressed your face into his shoulder, screwed up at the lack of friction. 

“Can’t do it,” you whined, “Please.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You said you needed me. You’ve got me,” he gestured to his thigh, “so get to work.” Then, he suddenly flexed, making an unwarranted mewl leave your mouth.

You wanted nothing more than his fucking cock, but here you were, pathetically pleasuring yourself on his thigh until he allowed otherwise. You nodded resignedly, and dug your fingernails into his shoulders, starting to set a steady pace of grinding down on him, slowly building up the heat within your insides. 

You were moaning now, vigorously dragging your hips against him harder, needier, feeling the pressure in your cunt grow hotter and more rampant. 

“Y’hear that?” He asked, one of his fingers tilting your chin back up to face him. “D’you even realize how fucking delicious you sound, all needy f’me?”

You nodded, but weren’t really paying attention: you were closer than ever, just moments away from falling off the edge— when Cillian stopped you. 

“Stop,” he spoke, voice filled with sheer lust, and you whimpered at the abrupt loss of momentum. Then, he got up, holding you against him by the waist, looking down at his sweatpants. “You made such a mess… soaked all over m’pants.”

You didn’t — no, couldn’t respond to his musings, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to return friction to your needy pussy, biting down on your lip to muffle your breathy pants. 

He noticed this, however, smirking and quickly pressing you stomach down onto the vanity. You caught a glimpse of yourself for the first time since your shower, and you flushed with shame: your eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated, lips pink and slick with drool, your brows in a perpetual knit.

You looked fucking filthy, and when you felt Cillian press his thick head to your entrance, something you hadn’t noticed he’d pulled out, too enraptured in your dirty expression, you shut your eyes. 

You were suddenly so much more aware of the situation: you’d fucked yourself silly on your co-stars thigh, the co-star who was twice your age. He now knew you weren’t a talented aspiring actress, no, you were just a desperate little thing begging to be fucked. 

“Hey, hey,” He tutted in mock-disappointment, “open your eyes, and fucking watch yourself. It’ll be good for our scene.”

You whimpered helplessly, obeying him and fluttering your eyes open, as he pushed his cock past your dripping folds inch by inch. 

“Oh my god,” you cried out when he finally pressed all the way in. You felt so full, stretched to the brim with his hardened cock, so deep his balls touched your sticky clit.

“So fucking wet,” he commented, chuckling darkly behind you. You were totally slick, helping him enter you faster, but his cock was still a foreign intrusion to your inexperienced cunt: you were young, and had never been the type to “get around” — at least not with the intentions of getting fucked so much you could take any length of dick easily. 

You clenched around him, a groan leaving his mouth at the increased pressure around his cock, and he snapped into you, making you bounce forward as your lips parted with a sweet moan. 

You’d been focussed on his face, in the mirror, but Cillian’s hand suddenly tangled through your hair, grabbing a fistful of it and lifting your head to face yourself. “I told you to fucking watch yourself,” he spat, gripping your hair tightly. “you’re the reason we can’t wrap up, so do your job and fuckin’ practice.”

With that, Cillian started pounding into you, digging the rough pads of his fingers into your hip, and you would’ve protested such a fast progression — having been given barely any time to get used to his long cock — but your expression was even worse than before, if that was even possible. 

Your mouth was open, tongue out and panting like a fucking dog, your lustfully sticky spit spilling down your chin to your chest, and your eyes were rolling into the back of your head with each hearty thrust Cillian delivered you. The sounds you were making weren’t helping your embarrassment either, all unintelligible mewls and needy whines for his cock. 

“You’ve wanted me for so long, haven’t you? I always knew what a filthy desperate girl you were, pressing up against me during shooting… those naughty hands on my thighs,” he snickered. 

“Needed you in me so bad,” you whimpered, nodding enthusiastically, barely able to register what you were doing now with the pleasure washing over you and clouding your senses. Your back was arching into him, sucking in his cock and never wanting him to leave despite the mind-breaking ecstasy that was coming from his pounding. 

“Just look at your dirty fuckin’ face… so pathetic.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek; sweet and lovely, a stark juxtaposition to his unrelenting rutting and degrading words. 

You whined at his words, but you knew they were true: you’d never seen yourself get fucked, always too busy with, well, getting fucked, but seeing yourself in the mirror like this had you unexpectedly hotter than before. There was just something about it, your face unabashedly contorting around the pleasure, Cillian’s hands snaking up your body as he rammed into you in the background. 

Kind of like your own personal porno, you thought offhandedly, and you wondered how it’d affect you if you filmed yourself. Hopefully, with Cillian. 

His other hand then came up to your folds, spreading them apart so he could see himself disappear into your hole. “Fuck, your cunt’s so perfect,” he growled, his head falling back, losing himself in the pleasure. 

The orgasm building in your gut wasn’t like the one when you’d been grinding down on his thick thigh, no, it came faster, making you sweat and your knees shake. You wanted more, and you gasped out “faster,” and “harder,” to Cillian, needing him in the stick spongy spot deep in your cunt. 

“Please,” you begged without any expectation of a real answer or action, “please, Cillian, please.”

He did go faster, though, to your apparent shock, both hands coming to your thighs to steady himself. “So needy,” he grumbled, pushing himself deeper and more swiftly into you, feeling how deliciously your fleshy walls tightened around his new pace. 

With that, your high came just as quick, hitting you like a fucking freight train and making you scream out his name. Your orgasm wrecked you, made your vision go white and your thoughts stutter to a complete halt, and you vaguely made out Cillian’s proud hum, whispering “Good girl,” in your ear. 

When you came to, your head was hanging low, your eyes blown out, lips puffy. Cillian was still thrusting into your worn-out pussy, but it was more jilted, shaky and needy. 

“Come in me,” you pleaded suddenly, gripping the vanity to keep your trembling legs up, “fill me up, please, make your come spill out of me.”

“Good god, girl,” he groaned, pounding one last thrust into you before letting go, his cock pulsing around your wet core. He was pressed up to you so deep you could feel him shoot his load right into your cervix, and you grinned weakly, a sweet image of you: knocked up with his kid, your cunt so young and fertile you’d get pregnant from just about anything from him, entering your mind. 

After a moment, he slipped his softening cock out of your filthy cunt and picked you up by the waist to set you down on the vanity and keep you from falling onto the floor. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. You then bit your lip, feeling his thick load of creamy come ooze out of your used hole onto your vanity. 

He noticed too, letting out a satisfied groan, spreading your legs lightly, before collecting himself on his finger and pushing his come back into your cunt. “Such a good girl,” he reiterated, going back to being sweet and petting your hair, doting on your weak form, looking deep into your eyes. 

You swooned at his delicate actions. “Is this a good time to say I like you?” 

He laughed, all adoringly. “It’s as good a time as any. I like you, too, if it’s any consolation.” 

“But you, y’know… you said I was too young,” you reminded him, frowning slightly. 

He sighed, gaze drifting away nervously for a moment before coming back to you. “That I did, but, well… if you wanna take this old man for a ride before I keel over,” he shrugged.

You couldn’t help the laugh that belted out of you, his words so ridiculous and completely not based in reality. “Oh, sure,” you said, shaking your head, lips still in an amused tilt, “you’re mine, old man.”

Before he could speak, probably say another stupid joke, your hands wrapped around his neck and you pulled him toward you, pressing a soft kiss to his plump lips. 

“I like you like you, okay?” You whispered, sounding incredibly juvenile but twice as heartfelt, your tone wavering and self-conscious. You were bearing your heart on your sleeve here, okay, acknowledging feelings you thought should never come to light. 

His hands came up to your face, gently holding you. “Good thing I like you like you, too.”

ii.

“Cut!” The director called, and you swore you felt your heart drop to the floor. Fuck, you thought, mind racing, what went wrong this time? Was it the kissing, or the hands in the hair?

However, the director came up to you and Cillian and let out an uncharacteristic shriek of delight. “Perfection,” he said simply, bordering on catatonic with how content he was. 

Your shoulders slumped with relief, and you leaned into Cillian, who was subtly dancing his fingers across your thigh. “It’s finished?” you asked, breathless with excitement.

The director nodded. “That was electric, needy, tense, delicious, passionate, so, so passionate,” he continued with a gasp, hands clasping together tightly.  “You are two of the most amazing actors I have ever worked with— you are incredibly talented, so convincing I’d have thought you did sleep together.” 

You preened at his praise, but not without looking up at Cillian, meeting his gaze and barely keeping your expression happy and neutral and not at all warm at the thought of the other night's events. 

As the director went off rambling about the utter masterpiece the movie was to be, Cillian trailed behind you off the set, murmuring lowly in your ear, “I guess practice does make perfect.”

[simpxxstan]

best friend's older brother mingyu

this is part of my 550 followers celebration event! find the rest of the members' headcanons in the event too as i post them through this month!

warnings: SMUT 18+ NSFW, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT making out, dry humping, untouched orgasm, mingyu is a slight perv

thinking about best friend's older brother!mingyu who you haven't seen in seven years

ever since he'd been selected into the under-19 basketball team, and then the national basketball team for south korea, you'd only ever see him on the tv screen in his games and interviews. he hasn't come back home in ages and has probably forgotten all about you.

that does not, however, mean that you have forgotten about him. you've watched all of his matches, kept track of his records, and following him like his #1 fan. you are his #1 fan, you think. you keep a scrapbook with all of his achievements and photographs and every little symbol of him. you're perfectly content with loving him in secret, in the depths of your heart. the ideal man, the hypothetically perfect match, the epitome of perfection.

his sister does not know about your not so little crush. she's aware that you liked him once or twice in school days. but she's dismissed it because you haven't seen him in ages, how can one have a crush on someone they haven't met in years?

oh but you can. it's a wild pining, that blooms into warmth every once in a while, when you open your scrapbook each night, when you watch him play on the tv. and as each day passes, instead of your desire for him decreasing, it seems to be rapidly rising.

for, if fifteen year old mingyu had been taller than his entire class and a certified visual, twenty-two year old mingyu is an absolute god. it's positively worse for you because unlike others, who treat mingyu as a celebrity crush, you know him. you remember what his touch feels like, you remember what his scent is like, you remember what his gaze feels like. you remember how nervous he made you every time he talked to you. you remember how broad his back had been even as an adolescent. you remember how raspy his morning voice would be freshly after he had hit puberty. you remember how kind he used to be to you, because you were sister's best friend. so, unlike the others, your fantasies are based on real things and not just intangible imagination.

thinking about best friend's older brother!mingyu who retires from his basketball career after winning the gold medal at the olympics

he returns to his hometown, a cherished celebrity, because he wants to go back to his normal life. he's seen how some of his most respected seniors got dismissed as soon as they could be replaced by young talent, and mingyu wants to retire while he's still remembered as the golden star of korea. so he retires at the helm of his career, a hero.

and while he will miss the team, he won't be missing the pressure that came along with it. he'd rather become an engineer like he'd always wanted to and live a steady life ahead.

but when he returns, he sees you. after seven years. standing next to his sister at his home, where there are a ton of unfamiliar faces, all here to get selfies with the celebrity.

"who's that?" his sister barks out a laugh, "you don't recognise y/n? you idiot!" y/n? fuck him for not realising you've grown up too. fuck him for not remembering how pretty your eyes had been underneath the thick glasses you'd worn since childhood.

"how could i? i saw you last when i was, fifteen?" "yeah. and i was twelve." "nice to see you're still my sister's best friend." "nice to see you back home. congrats on the win, though." mingyu smiles. you smile too. fuck. you have dimples. where did the nerdy little girl with braids and freckles go?

thinking about best friend's older brother!mingyu who joins your college, majoring in aerospace engineering, which is coincidentally also your major

he sits next to you. it's your first day in class and mingyu's joining three years late but no one really minds. everyone is too busy fawning over him. look at his arms. look at his smile. look at his long hair.

"why are you sitting here? there's plenty of place for you to sit." "i'd rather sit next to a familiar face. why, do you want me gone?" "no but you're distracting." he leans in closer, leaving nearly no space between your seats. "distracting?" "yes. if you haven't noticed, there are like a dozen cameras pointed at you right now, and a dozen more eyes. not to mention that everyone wants to sit next to you, so you choosing to sit next to me ruins my chances of making friends with others." your glare is stern, and mingyu can't help the way his heart races when you look at him like that from above your glasses.

"i'm shier than you think. i'm here to escape the attention too." you sigh, "i don't remember you to be like this." i don't either, mingyu wants to say. from your height difference, he can see a bit of your cleavage and he almost drools. "people change, y/n-ah." you turn your face away as the professor comes in. "well, please focus in class then. otherwise i won't really like you sitting next to me, no matter what your excuse is."

thinking about best friend's older brother!mingyu who begins to rely on you totally in college

from sitting next to you in class, to sitting next to you and his sister during lunch, he's become a permanent feature in your periphery nowadays. and you're not sure you can take it any longer. because fuck your memory had served you wrong.

mingyu still smells like that, his voice is still like that, but he's grown at least three sizes bigger, and he just doesn't fit in the small class seats. his arm is nearly always on your desk, especially because he is left-handed. you always sit on one end of your seat to ensure mingyu and your legs aren't constantly touching. and it doesn't help that he laughs at even your smallest jokes because he always, always ends up slapping your thighs or arms during his laughter. frankly, every day in class is torture.

it doesn't help that mingyu now hangs out a lot more with you and his sister. so if you're doing homework in the library, mingyu tags along. if you're gossiping in her bedroom, somehow mingyu's also there, although he's engrossed on his phone. eventually, you stop becoming conscious of his presence, and stop censoring your conversations. it's not easy, but not impossible.

mingyu eventually invites himself over to your house for a study session before the exams. it's just the two of you, because your best friend is studying with her own group of classmates who have the same major as her. it's safe to say, it's a completely useless session for you because you get no studying done.

mingyu is literally in your personal space throughout the evening. he may be sitting opposite to you, but somehow his knees knock against yours under the table, his long hands stretch across the table to take the highlighter you're using from your hands, and he leans right into your face on the pretext of listening to what you're explaining. finally you can't take his attention on you any longer, and you take too many bathroom breaks to calm your racing heart.

thinking about best friend's older brother!mingyu who is a part of the varsity basketball team

he may be a freshman, but he's still the captain because his skills are undoubtedly the best among the lot. and while he has retired from the national team, he still loves the sport enough to be a part of the college team.

of course, he wins the inter-college basketball varsity cup, and the entire college is roaring and cheering for him. mingyu knows you're somewhere in the stadium- he'd spotted you right before his final match-winning shot, but now he can't see you at all.

using this as a means to escape the attention of cameras and other people, he runs through the corridors to find you sitting in a classroom, empty because everyone's at the stadium in the grounds to watch the match. "didn't you watch the match?" his voice makes you turn around, slightly jerking at the sudden voice. "of course i did. i knew you would win."

you look heavenly right now. not that you don't all the other times, but especially today because you're wearing the jersey he used to wear for the national team. he knows a hundred other girls were wearing it too in the stadium, but they were all copies. this is the original- he knows because his sister has told him that she's given it to you. and while it's loose on your body, there's crazy rush of arousal running through his veins right now as he sees his name written all over your back: number 9, mingyu.

"then why are you hiding here? i was taking out my sis for lunch afterwards. my treat. she'll be happy if you come along." i will be too, but he doesn't say it.

"no i- i have some revision to do. the viva's day after tomorrow, and i know i-" you stand up to face him, but your words fail you when he takes three steps closer towards you until his entire figure towers over you. "or are you just avoiding me?" he can see the effect he's having on you, the way your skin gets redder with blush and the way you keep averting his eyes. it makes the adrenaline rush quicker and his braveness increase. he's high from the victory and from playing his beloved sport after so long, so he's not averse to taking a few risks right now that he would not take any other day. so he leans in closer to you, until he can smell your perfume.

"why would i avoid you? and why are you here? shouldn't you be celebrating with your team?" "i wanted to see you." "don't lie to me for no reason, please." mingyu huffs, and pauses before replying. he takes in a deep breath, inhaling your delicious scent again, before he replies. "i'm not lying. why don't you believe me? is it so imposs-""not impossible. just, i don't know. irrational. doesn't make sense. look i know you may feel shy but i'd think you're used to this kind of attention. in fact, i always thought you rejoice in this attention."

you're right. you're so right, because any other day, and he knows he would be out there with his team, hollering and celebrating the win. but right now, he can't think of anyone but you. even on the field, from the moment he spotted you in the stands, he couldn't think of anything but how he wants to play for you. win for you. impress you. so that you have more reasons to like him. more notes to add in your-

"i saw your scrapbook." he sees the way your eyes dilate. "when?" "when i went to your house." "you fucking snoop-" "was that all a lie?" "min-" "i need to know, i need to know. i need to know because i can't think of anything else. i need to know because i don't want anything else from my life. i need to know."

"no!" you finally look up at him, cornered against the desk because he's caved you totally. "it's true. all of it. so what? will you laugh at me for it?" at that, mingyu's confidence falters for the first time. "laugh? why would i l- y/n, what are you saying?" "i know what you're doing. all this smooth talking, all your attention, you're just playing me along. and i won't be played along, mingyu."

"fuck, is that- is that what you've been thinking all along? fuck, no wonder you're avoiding me." he mutters under his breath, but he can see the confusion in your face too. "what do you mean, mingyu?" he doesn't want to answer, because he knows he will fuck up the words. so he just says, "stop me if you don't want this."

and he leans in and kisses you. it's a messy kiss from the first moment, because he's moving too fast and you're moving too slow in your shock. he pulls back after a second, his eyes glazed. "talk to me, y/n. tell me somethin-" "kiss me again, mingyu. kiss me like you mean it."

so he does. your tongues clashing and you moan when his hands wrap around your hips. spurred on by your sounds, he picks you up from the desk in one go. you squirm in his grip, wrapping your hands around his neck, clinging on to him as you float in air for a second. but you don't break the kiss. he holds on to you like dear life, as he turns around and sits on the desk himself, pulling you on to his lap. he carefully pulls away from the kiss for a breath and leans against the wall.

mingyu drags you closer to him, your legs folding around him and- "fuck, gyu- you- you're hard?" he hisses when you grind your body against him. "you're so hard from some kissing?" there's a teasing lilt in your voice, and for some reason, it's turning him on even more. but then his grip tightens on your hips as he pulls you to grind over him faster, while kissing you desperately.

your hands get lost in gyu's soft, long hair. mingyu's hands trail along your bare thighs under the skirt, and when he touches the hem of your panties, he feels from over your panties just how wet you've become, and he moans from the sticky feeling. "don't stop, gyu," you're whispering, and he doesn't. he sees you throw your head back, as you crave the friction and keep grinding against his crotch. the sweat from mingyu's body has trailed onto you, and he finds droplets of sweat running down your neck into your cleavage. he bucks his hips up into you at the sight, and you hold on to his shoulders to grind on him faster.

"can you come like this, baby? i can- i'm going to, if you keep moving your h-hips like-fuck!" and he does. kim mingyu, star of the generation, national basketball champion, icon of the college, comes right in his pants as you ride him and kiss him, chasing your own high. he doesn't stop you, although the humping is pushing him to overstimulation, but he keeps biting your lips and your neck the way you seem to like it, and soon you pull off his lips with a scream, your entire body trembles, and he can see the way your thighs quiver and then go still.

"that was so hot, baby." mingyu says after a minute of the two of you just looking at each other, coming down from your highs. "it was so risky- what were we thinking!" he laughs as he sees the shyness kick in after all this time, "don't go all innocent on me, love. now, do you want to take this home, or do you want me to keep kissing you here, my pants wet with my own cum like a teenager?"

and then, you giggle. the prettiest, fucking giggle ever in the world. for all your brisk attitude, you go soft over him at this moment and hug him, pulling him to your chest. but he's so wrong if he thinks you're talking soft, because he then hears you whispering in his ear, your breath hot against his earlobe, "i want to go home and ride you properly, gyu. will you let me?"

[cleoluvrr]

notice me (rafe cameron x reader)

born too late for you to notice me

warnings: obsessive reader(she's delusional </3), explicit sexual content, unhealthy behavior, slight age gap

masterlist

your panties were soaking, the arousal leaking from your clothed slit creating a mess of the fabric. it clung to your skin uncomfortably, folds visible through the ruined undergarments. you wanted to rip them off, but rafe held them flush to your pussy as he licked a wet stripe over the drenched cotton.

he stared up at you from his position, blue eyes glowing with mischief as took in your impatient whines. his actions did nothing to solve your frustration. the barrier between his wet mouth and your throbbing cunt was only making you more desperate as the minutes ticked by. his fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit made your hips grind into his touch, the friction of the panties against the bud doing little to satisfy you.

“r-rafe, please…” a broken plea for him to end his incessant teasing left your throat involuntarily. your pussy had taken over your brain function, whatever clear thoughts you had now replaced with a primal need you’d never felt before.

"calm down," he murmurs, his tone tender and soothing. your knees were forced far apart, kept completely at his mercy each time he leaned in to attach himself to your pussy. “just enjoy it…”

you were tempted to push him away, but the hand you placed on the top of his head only pulled him in closer as you bucked your hips into his face. the texture of his tongue and the rough fabric in combination against your swollen lips was far too intense for you to handle, and yet, you still wanted more–needed more.

“y/n…” his voice was muffled below you, barely audible over your heavy breathing and the blood rushing through your ears. “y/n…” your mind was still in a distant place, thighs squeezing tightly around the sides of the blond’s head as he lapped up the arousal leaking through your panties.

“y/n!”

rafe’s voice was clear as day, the fogginess of your brain dissipated as your friend’s older brother stared at you in annoyance. your eyes widened in realization before blinking away the lusty haze that coated them. heat traveled up your chest rapidly to reach the soft flesh of your cheeks. swallowing dryly, you hummed in response, not trusting yourself to use your real voice.

“jesus, kid, what’s your problem? you can’t hear?” 

“sorry, i was…” you blinked at the man on the other side of the kitchen island, his cold eyes leaving a trail of goosebumps over your arms. “sorry..w-what’d you say?”

the years-long crush you had on your best friend’s older brother only increased tenfold the longer you two were in proximity to each other. you thought that it would go away after freshman year of high school, but you were far from correct. your first year at college had just ended, months filled with new parties, new faces, and new boys to become attached to. 

you were certain that you’d get over rafe this time, and yet, here you were. home for the summer and daydreaming about…things you’d never say aloud.

it was hard not to. no matter how many times you told yourself it was wrong, you just couldn't help but let your mind drift when he was around. the smell of his cologne was intoxicating, and the way he carried himself made your thighs squeeze together instinctively.

he was just so...rafe.

rubbing his eyes frustratedly, he sighs. rafe was never one to have patience for anyone and it was clear to you that he was running low from interacting with a barely-there you. while the oldest cameron always had a bit of a soft spot for you, it still didn’t take much to push his buttons. 

“i said get out, my friends are coming. i don’t want you around them.” rafe says firmly. he leans against the kitchen counter, eyes no longer boring into you as they were a few seconds ago. his fingers tap rhythmically against his phone screen, presumably texting the friends that were supposed to appear sooner or later. when you don’t move from your spot by the kitchen’s island, his head pulls up to meet your puzzled gaze once again. “you didn’t hear me? leave.”

your brows knit together lightly in confusion. rafe had never taken issue with you being around his friends before. granted, you’d never been around them alone. sarah had always been there, and it was never on purpose. any time you were around when his friends came over, rafe would never really give time for them to speak to you before pulling them away. kelce and topper were nice enough from what you’d experienced with the two of them, so you couldn’t understand what the issue would be.

sarah stepped out with ward for something a while ago, leaving you all by yourself in the house with rafe until the two of them returned. you stood from your seat on the barstool to make your exit but stopped before you could get too far. facing him again, you opened your mouth to speak.

“why?” you asked the older blonde curiously. his eyebrow twitched in annoyance, but that didn’t deter you from questioning the order. “do they not like me?” ‘do you not like me?’ is what you really wanted to say, but you bit your tongue to refrain from it. you were too scared of what the answer might be.

rafe chuckled dryly as he shook his head at you, hand reaching up to comb through his golden locks. pushing off the counter, he walked around to meet you where you stood. the way he stared down at you left you feeling a bit startled, the pair of heavy blue eyes drinking in every inch of your frame indiscriminately. it was difficult for you to remain calm with him looming over you like that. 

you nearly jump out of your skin when he places a hand on your shoulder and spins you around roughly. it caught you off guard but you didn’t stumble, instead you made a sound of protest at the sudden contact. you could feel the heat of his gaze against your back and if your face could get any hotter, it would. the puff of his warm breath against your ear is what made you jump, but rafe’s chest against your back made you freeze in place.

the feeling of his hand traveling down your shoulder blades, the dip of your back, and the curve where your waist meets your ass left your skin covered in goosebumps and the palms of your hands uncomfortably clammy.

you’d been hanging out with sarah for the three weeks that you’d been home, and each day you meticulously planned your outfits just in case rafe happened to be around. the oversized sweatshirts had been packed up in the back of your family’s garage and the breasts you’d been hiding since you got them were finally free of the skin tight sports bras you used to strapped them down all those years. the shortest skirts you owned were being put to work the entire summer until something came to fruition. 

“do they not like me?” he repeats in a mocking tone. “kid–y/n…that’s not the problem.”

“rafe!” you exclaimed. the feel of his strong hand reaching under the hem of your skirt left you shocked, jaw slack with disbelief. you were worried about what he would find under there if he reached too far, the dampness of your panties enough to leave them sticking to your skin and able to expose you if he were to accidentally brush against them. “what are you doing?” your imagination had left you feeling indecent and hot, and you wished you would have left the room when you had the chance to spare yourself the embarrassment.

relief washed over you at the feeling of him tugging the fabric of your skirt down to cover as much of the exposed skin as the material would allow. you could hear him kiss his teeth as it barely covered the tops of your thighs, the fold of your ass almost visible anytime you weren’t standing completely still.

the sound of the front door opening filled your ears, topper and kelce’s loud voices traveling through the empty house as they called out for their friend.

“go upstairs. now.” rafe pushes you away roughly and you waste no time shuffling out of the room.

his eyes were glued to you until the moment you left, the feeling of his ocean blue orbs burned into your skin as your nike-clad feet padded against the old floorboards. your heart was beating firmly against the bones in your chest and you could still feel the way his warm hands were so close to somewhere they shouldn’t ever be, but where you wish they could stay forever. 

when you reached sarah’s room on the upper floor of the mansion, you finally released the silent scream that you’d been holding in since rafe first walked into the kitchen.

you’d felt him watching you the entire time, his eyes raking over your frame as you stared down at your phone pretending that you couldn’t tell. you knew sarah had plans with her dad today but you insisted on coming over anyway, claiming that you didn’t want to miss a single day with her this summer. you knew rafe would be here too, because that was the first thing sarah warned you of before she left you alone with her brother. 

you spent months–years–doing whatever it took to get his attention without completely throwing yourself at him like you so badly wanted to. the last thing you wanted was to come off as the desperate, embarrassing best friend, but you had to do something to stand out amongst all the other rich, pretty, older girls that flocked to him everywhere he went.

he was the kook prince, and you were just his little sister’s friend. it was hard for you to get him to see you any other way.

when you came home for summer break, you had a plan. your days were meticulously planned around him, which definitely sounded insane, but after years of pining you couldn’t find it in you to care.

the local goodwill took in all your old clothes during the winter to make room for your new wardrobe. you learned how to do your makeup, lost the contacts, and opted for consistent manicures rather than the brittle nubs for nails you had your entire childhood. months worth of confidence lessons on youtube, manifesting, and subtle flirting practice with the boys at your university were going to pay off this summer.

it had to. 

the kid he was used to was gone. the nail biter with chunky black glasses, a stutter, and old band shirts had been banished and in her place was the improved version of you. the one that planned her outfits a day in advance, always had french tips, and could hold eye contact without stumbling over every word like it was her first. you walked with a sway in your hips and showed off parts of your body that nobody except sarah and yourself knew you had. 

you refused to be the awkward, nerdy kid anymore. things had to be different this time–and they were. 

when presented with the opportunity to be alone with rafe cameron, you took every measure possible to get his attention without begging on your hands and knees. for nearly a month you tried to be as lowkey as possible; pretending to not care if he was there or not, ignoring him completely when you two were in the same room, flirting with other guys when rafe was in hearing distance–whatever it took. it was tiring, but you couldn’t give up–not after all these years.

staring at yourself in the full body mirror propped against the sarah’s wall, you smiled and took a step closer to examine yourself. rafe finally saw you. he called you ‘kid,’ but he finally saw you as something more than that. you were finally one step closer to your silly little daydreams becoming reality.

“he noticed me…” you whispered to yourself. 

he finally fucking noticed.

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (5)

Summary: Terry and Patrice enjoy each other with the promise of bright future.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4.9k

Part: 5 of 5

Warnings: Smut (18+), NSFW

A/N: Thanks so much for joining me on this ride. I hope the journey turns out to be worth it.

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four.

“Uh, my name is Terry, I’m from North Carolina, and I wanna dedicate this one to my lady over there in the orange dress. You look good, girl.” 

“Oh no.”

“Sing your song, baby!”

A mix of encouragement and admiration at Terry’s public display of affection rang out in a poorly lit karaoke bar in the French Quarter. Liquor, good food, and good people were the perfect mix for a good time with the vestiges of Summer break rapidly slipping away. Terry stood on stage with a goofy grin and low eyes, pointing everyone toward his favorite audience member. 

Patrice had never been so embarrassed in her life. When she’d dared him to do something crazy on the last night of their spontaneous vacation, she thought he’d finally get that tattoo of her name on his ribs like he promised way back when. Singing in front of a crowd of rowdy strangers wasn’t on her bingo card.

Her hands covered her mouth to muffle her near-uncontrollable laughter. 

Terry couldn’t sing. At least not well enough to give a tipsy rendition of Patrice’s favorite Usher record. She still remembered forcing Terry to listen to Raymond v. Raymond over and over again in her cramped bedroom, many times not getting past Track 3 without gushing over how she hoped to marry the R&B heartthrob one day. Terry secretly carried a deep disdain for Usher up until his mid-20s, but couldn’t dodge the memories any time “There Goes My Baby” would play and take him right back to that cramped bedroom with his dream girl. 

He started just as Patrice expected. Though he knew the words like the back of his hand, his pitchy tenor was a far cry from the vocals needed to properly serenade an audience. He didn’t care though. As long as he could pull a belly laugh from Patrice he’d make a fool of himself in public every time. 

Between the second verse and bridge, Terry decided to take his antics up a notch. He abandoned the stage to make a beeline for Patrice with the mic in hand for a personal show. She was sure to play into the bit with playful hoops and fake screams between giggles. When he was close enough to touch, she pretended to fangirl like she was front row at one of Usher’s Vegas shows. 

“Baby, lovin’ you feels better than everything, anything. Put it on my heart, you gon’ get a ring,” he sang, spontaneously remixing the lyrics so far off-key that, if not for the levity of the ordeal, he’d surely offend every music lover in a 50-mile radius. “And I promise, our time away didn’t change my love.” 

Completely enamored with the absurdity of the moment, Patrice ran her fingertips across Terry’s abdomen underneath his shirt like a crazed fan and winked. Terry acknowledged the dangerous line she was toeing by flashing her a flirtatious grin to match the seductive sparkle in his eyes. 

Their connection overrode Terry’s awful singing performance enough for the crowd to show support through an assortment of cheers and supportive hollers only a city full of spirited Black people could provide. 

Always the perfect gentleman, Terry bid Patrice farewell for a moment with a peck on the cheek before returning to the stage to cap a truly unexpected performance and receive thunderous applause. 

“Oooo-weee. That’s your man, love? I’m talking official official?” The middle-aged tourist’s question and her thick accent interrupted Patrice’s daydreaming while she watched Terry’s every move with part of her bottom lip caught by her top row of teeth. 

“Yeah,” she answered, finally tearing her gaze away to acknowledge the woman while fiddling with the opal necklace he’d gifted her at dinner. It was the necklace symbolizing their first real date and the end of their friends only arrangement. “That’s him. Ain’t he somethin’?” 

“Somethin’ ain’t the word. I might need to head on up to North Carolina and get me one of them. My God today!” 

“He’s got a cute little single friend out in Percyville if you down with our Asian brothers. Former Marine too.” 

“You got a picture?” 

The two women fell into conversation about Ken’s availability while Patrice waited for Terry to rejoin her side. He soon returned with two shots of tequila in hand and a smile fighting to be freed from behind his poker face. 

“What was that about,” he asked, nodding at the woman who’d begun to show her friends photos of her potential beau as he placed a shot in front of Patrice.

“Might’ve gotten Ken somebody to take him out of the streets. You know he like ‘em thick and fine.” 

“I taught my boy a few things.” He used the hand closest to Patrice to breach the split in her dress and grip her inner thigh. He maintained contact, waiting for her to get shy and shoo him away. 

But she didn’t. She met his show of dominance with one of her own and crossed her legs to keep him in place, keeping him close to the pulse at her center. Two could play the secret foreplay game.

“What’s that about,” she asked, pointing at his gift of top-shelf reposado and ignoring the flutter in her stomach once he began rubbing slow circles on the top of her thigh with his thumb.

He smirked. “A little something to toast with.” 

“Oooh. What’re we celebrating?” 

“Being free, being together, and…” He lifted his shot glass, prompting Patrice to follow suit. 

“And what, TJ! C’mon!” 

“And…I got the job.” He followed his surprise by taking his shot, finishing with a quiet laugh while watching Patrice sit in unblinking shock. He squeezed her thigh again. “Don’t let me drink alone now. Bottoms up.” 

Shock gave way to a soft squeal and tiny, animated hand claps before Patrice took her gulp of tequila. Excitement had her rushing to swallow so that she could pull Terry into a series of quick kisses across his face. 

“I’m proud of you,” she complimented against his lips. “Tell me about it.” 

She stole another kiss to taste the remnants of buffalo sauce and alcohol on Terry’s tongue. He let her explore uninhibited until she’d had enough. If she wanted to put on a show, he’d be a willing participant. Even more so in the privacy of the Airbnb that belonged them to until sunrise.

The sexual tension had reached a tipping point and the clock was ticking. Images of her body beneath his were starting to be the only thoughts Terry could concoct.

Terry’s face was completely flushed, usually even caramel skin now red from lust and one too many drinks. A slow, tipsy grin put all his teeth on display before he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. 

“We can talk about that later. Can we get out of here right now, though.” 

“Yeah? Why?” 

Patrice assumed they were having a good time with at least one more stop on their self-guided nightlife tour. His eagerness to abandon plans was uncharacteristic. 

Terry continued to smile then leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I really wanna make you cum tonight. You been waiting too long.”

A shiver hit Patrice’s spine as she tried to maintain some level of composure in a room full of people. Terry easily pushed her thighs open to free his hand, being sure to brush against her lower lips with the tips of his fingers. 

Terry didn’t need to speak when he stood to pull her chair back from the table. Patrice allowed him to tug her to her feet and out of the bar, waving goodbye to her new friend who gave her a congratulatory thumbs up. 

However, any morsel of confidence she had while they made out like teenagers in the backseat of a taxi had waned once they reached their dwelling for the night and the reality of their situation set in. 

Their first time together was her first time. She was young with too many influences in her ear telling her that the only way to make a man love her was through her body. No matter how many times Terry assured her that they could spend that truly imporable hour of alone time in her hotel room catching up, she insisted that they test the boundaries of their affection. 

Now, with history repeating itself, she couldn’t help but feel a deep pit of nervousness and uncertainty growing in her belly. 

Patrice stood in the bathroom mirror, tussling with her hair that had gone from pressed roots to a mess of frizz and curled ends. She suddenly hated the way her cotton slip dress fit and how the lace bra and panty set seemed to bunch in all the wrong places. The only thing she wanted to do was look like the woman of his dreams, but her confidence was waning with every second she spent judging her appearance while Terry waited patiently in the bedroom. Frustration was building and bringing the sting of fresh tears to her eyes.

On the other side of the door, Terry spent his time adjusting and readjusting the pillows on the bed. His bare back and shoulders glistened under the soft, warm light emanating from the floor lamp across the room, partially from the heat, but mostly from sheer nervousness. 

“What the fuck are you doing,” he whispered to himself, suddenly embarrassed. 

Terry forced himself to take a seat at the edge of the bed to calm his nerves. The last time he’d been on the brink of having her in this way, he was a young man with no clue how to love a woman. Now, all he wanted to do was prove that he’d earn every morsel of her trust back if she let him. 

He never told Patrice that their first time was his first time. He was scared out of his mind, wanting to give in to his fantasies but afraid to send the wrong impression. The memory of that summer afternoon never left him. But, it was time to start anew with a title and the promise of a different result on the horizon.

Taking a deep breath, Terry wiped his sweaty palms against the soft fabric of his briefs and sighed. 

“You okay in there,” he called out, concerned as the minutes ticked by with no communication. “I don’t wanna rush you. Just checking in. Tell me to leave you alone if I’m doing too much.” 

“I’m okay. One second. I’m fixin’ my hair.”

“Take your time. I’m sure you look…”

The soft sound of the door opening stopped Terry mid-sentence. Patrice stepped out, one foot in front of the other, until she was past the threshold and under his doting gaze. 

“...gorgeous,” he finished, the word coming out in one breath. “You are absolutely gorgeous, Treece.” 

Patrice had decided on a bun on top of her head with tendrils in the front and back that couldn’t quite reach the rest of her hair. She’d traded her light makeup for a bare face still glowing from her nighttime skin routine. Her slip dress clung and dipped in all the right places without the lace from her lingerie interrupting the smooth fabric. She looked at him through long lashes, her expression reading as the same timid girl from all those years ago.

Terry stood to his full height in reverence of her breathtaking form. The most skilled artists and creators from around the world couldn’t have dreamt of a more captivating marvel in his opinion. She was the pinnacle of beauty. 

Patrice watched him draw closer, her head slowly tilting up as he began to dwarf her with his stature. He reached out to trace her jaw before lightly gripping her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey, yourself.”

Goofy smiles and giggles followed their awkward introduction to ease the anxious energy in the room.

“Is Terrence James Richmond nervous behind little ol’ me,” she teased with a tickle to his sides. 

“I got a few butterflies, I’m not gon’ lie,” he laughed. “Just wanna make you happy, is all.” 

“I was gonna say the same to you.” 

“You have no idea how happy you make me.” 

His voice came in just above a whisper, nearly drowned out by the chirping of crickets outside. 

Their noses brushed against each other as Patrice stood on her tip-toes to rest her arms around his neck. Her fingers traced circles at his nape, making the hair all over his body stand at attention. 

A tentative peck connected their lips and gave way to more needy, hungry kisses that transformed them into eager teenagers making out for the thrill of physical contact. 

Euphoria wasn’t enough to explain Terry’s headspace. He was high off every kiss, lick, and bite Patrice allowed. He couldn’t get close enough. It wasn’t sufficient to pull her closer with a firm grasp on her ass. He needed to taste her, to be consumed by her, to consume her in every way possible. 

“Put me to work. Tell me what you need,” he whispered, breathless as blood began to rush south from the slight pain of Patrice’s fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. 

“You. Fold me, bend me, flip me, I don’t care. I just need you.” 

Patrice was far beyond playing coy. She’d drop to her knees and beg at his feet if he asked. Whatever she had to do to feel him from the inside was on the table. 

Terry didn’t make Patrice go to extremes for his affection. He preferred to acknowledge her request by carefully sliding the straps of her dress down her shoulders and arms. 

He watched her skin become more and more exposed with intense focus, taking note of the way her nipples seemed to salute him once they met the bedroom air. He acknowledged both of them with a soft caress that earned a whimper from Patrice as she watched him handle her with care.

Never in her life had been methodically unwrapped like a present on Christmas morning. Her heartbeat had gone below her waist, throbbing in an almost painful cry for her lover’s attention. Terry kept her yearning at bay with a slow kiss while he pushed her garment past her hips and to the floor. 

Patrice disrobed him with an equal measure of care, offering quick kisses across the expanse of his chest while she slid her hand past his Calvin Klein waistband. Round, doe eyes looked back up at him to catch the precise moment when Terry’s eyelids blinked closed from the sensation of her fingertips brushing past his sensitive tip. 

Her soft palms worked his shaft - up and down, up and down - until his member was proud and bobbing from the weight of itself without something keeping it at bay. 

Fearing what might happen if he let her continue, Terry pulled her back to his body for sensual openmouthed kisses on her full lips. The soft smack of their lips and tongues created perfect harmonies in the still room, communicating more desire than either of them could effectively vocalize. 

The intensity began to rise at exponential rates, sending them in a clumsy frenzy to the bed for somewhere stable to fully experience one another. Terry’s back hit the cool cotton sheets first with Patrice collapsing on top with a surprised yelp that made them both laugh.

“Don’t fight it,” Terry instructed, pushing a stray piece of hair from her face while he stared up at her lovingly. “Let go. I got you.”

His reassurance made her heart do a backflip on the way to its new home between her legs. She needed him in the worst way.

Terry leaned up to kiss her lips once, twice, and once more to linger. His fingertips traced a blazing path from her waist to the bottom of her ass to partially push her forward in a silent plea to kiss her where he missed her most. 

“Let me taste you. Is that okay?” 

Something about the way he asked for permission with eyes those stormy eyes robbed Patrice of her ability to respond with words. He prompted her to move forward again with a soft tap on her backside, finally convincing her to lift her hips and scoot toward his face. 

Cautiously, she hovered above his mouth with thick thighs flanking either side of his head. 

He moved slow with sweet kisses and lazy licks to mix spit with her wetness in a one-sided love song to his favorite girl. He was effortlessly sexy, combining broad strokes of his tongue between her lips with expertly timed sucks at her clit to elicit filthy words that fueled his best oral performance yet.

He ignored every plea for mercy and her cries for a break to compose herself. There was only one objective. Two if he were lucky to push her into a water show for the ages. 

Animalistic instinct had them trading moans in time with each other, fully in throws of passion. Every grind against his nose and call of his name made Terry want to show her the full extent of his skill. 

His face glistened beneath her with his eyes still low but open enough to get the full visual of her undoing.

“Terry, that is - oh…shit.” 

Full sentences became senseless babble as she clamped her eyes shut to brace for that familiar feeling pooling in the pit of her belly. Patrice struggled to maintain focus on herself while Terry enjoyed his new favorite meal. 

The velvety smoothness of his tongue took broad passes from her entrance to her clit, stopping every so often to chase wetness that had escaped to her thighs. He wanted every drop and then some. 

His moans and groans as he feasted vibrated against her most sensitive spots, turning her mind into television static. Seeing her unravel with every soft suckle at her clit and agonizingly slow, broad lick across her swollen lips drove him to near-obsessive levels of lust. 

Her chest heaved in a fight to keep her heart rate level as his efforts to make her cum for the first time became more targeted. 

“Fuck, baby” she moaned, finally taking a look down to watch the master in his element. “Look at you. You gon’ make me cum, huh?”

Terry seemed to smile at her admiration. If he could get her to talk back, her eventual undoing when all was said and done would be that much more satisfying. 

Taking her challenge, he began to push her to her limit. She was putty in his mouth as he brought her closer and closer to the edge, soft sucking turning into a talented tongue making moans devolve into nonsensical utterings until she was squirming for release while his arms kept her locked in place for a wild ride.

Almost there. Almost there. Then a brief pause to start from the top. More lazy passes and passionate kisses to rev her up to the point of delirium and practically screaming to finish. 

Just when she thought she may have to threaten him on the third revolution of his torture, he delivered on his promise from the bar. 

Colors emitted smells. Sounds became vivid pictures across her eyes. She could taste the stars as she erupted in a way she’d never done before. The prickle of his facial hair on sensitive skin felt like shockwaves on her skin. 

“Oh fuuuuck! Yesyesyes!” 

Her hips jerked without her permission, taking Terry’s face on the ride of his life. He kept up through it all with no objections. If death came from her thighs cutting him off from the oxygen needed to breathe he’d wear death like a badge of honor in the afterlife.

Another string of expletives fell from her lips in tandem with Terry’s muffled groan as she gripped the sheets below her for dear life. This was Heaven. She was sure of it. 

Terry took one last deep inhale with his nose pressed against her pussy before kissing along the warm skin of Patrice’s inner thigh while she came down. She caressed what she could reach of his head in appreciation and beckoned him to release his suction on her pussy. 

She rushed to get back to his lips to taste herself on his mouth and he welcomed her with open arms. 

Kissing. Grinding. Skin-to-skin friction. None of it was enough for Terry. He desperately needed to be inside her to satisfy the near-painful stiffness he was experiencing. 

His attempt to flip Patrice on her back was futile once she pressed her weight into his legs to keep him in place. He roughly nipped at her shoulder before trying again with the same result. 

“C’mon,” he pleaded, almost begging for the go-ahead to fill her to the hilt in one smooth motion.

Still, she denied him pleasure. Patrice shifted to straddle his waist, slowly dragging her hands up and down his torso while his stomach clenched from the warmth of her core on his body. 

“Lay back,” she breathed out, partially lifting her hips to reposition herself on top of his length. He hissed at the sensation of her gingerly dragging her wet, warm entrance against his shaft. “I’mma handle this one. Relax, baby.” 

If there was a thought to be had, Terry couldn’t piece it together to save his life once Patrice completely enveloped him inside her slick walls. His jaw tightened then fell slack once she began to work her magic. A slow bounce and grind combination in his lap kept her breast rolling in a lewd show with Terry as the lucky winner of a front row ticket. 

Patrice kept her head thrown back like a cowgirl, feeling perspiration gather on her forehead while he gave him all she had. His hands giving her firm smacks on the hip and ass acted as a round of applause each time she buried him deep and pulled back up with expert precision. 

Her right hand slid from its spot on his chest to his throat for a barely there squeeze just as a quiet gasp made her aware of another incoming orgasm. 

The feel of her thumb gripping his esophagus made Terry expel a sound that he wasn’t aware he could make, somewhere between a whimper and a growl awakening each of his senses. 

The sight brought him the beautiful visual of her eyes shut tightly in concentration while she glowed like a heavenly body from the lamp’s light. Her hair had slipped out of its bun, leaving a lion’s mane of coils to toss wildly in the wind. 

Smell brought with it the earthy scent of sweat and the lingering musk of her pussy. A smell that could awaken a deep longing in him in even the direst circumstances. If he could bottle it and wear it as fragrance, he’d do so proudly just to have her with him at all times.

Hearing pulled in the sound of their skin slapping together in time with the intermingling moans in the room. He’d never been so loud before, so unabashedly in the moment with another woman. He cursed, called her name, and praised her with equal ferocity. 

Touch was satisfied by the handful of ass he used to ease the stress on her thighs while she bucked wilder than ever before. 

Something akin to a growl erupted from his throat as he strained to hold back release. “You doing so good for me, baby. You know I love you right?” 

“Yes!” she cried out, hips starting to sputter out of control with Terry gently stretching her on every stroke. 

He wrapped his arms around her waist tighter as he fucked into her in search of their shared release. She sagged forward for the ride, her brain turning into mush while her mouth hung open with no sounds.

“Good.” His voice came through clenched teeth. “Because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.” 

She put up no resistance as he paused his pounding to flip her onto her back with a dancer's grace. Having her laid out beneath him, body open, leaking, and waiting for him was as exciting as the first time. He was reinvigorated. Any onset of sore muscles and tired hips was gone the moment she keened for his attention. 

Terry’s eyes were blown wide with excitement while he decided where to put his mouth first. He quickly settled on one of her legs, slowly lifting it by the ankle to lick and kiss the birthmark by her Achilles. His tongue traced an invisible map past her heel, to her pedicured toes, and back to her calf before closing his lips to cap his display of affection. He propped the leg on his shoulder and then pressed forward to bring his chest down over hers. 

Patrice’s small mewls from the burning in her hamstrings became caught in Terry’s mouth as searched her mouth with sloppy enthusiasm. Her whining grew louder still once his tip pressed past her entrance.

“You can take it,” he affirmed, pushing deeper. “I know you can. I’m so proud of you.”

Affirmations and appreciative pecks across her face overrode aching muscles. She wanted, needed, to please him. 

They released content sighs in tandem once they were pelvis to pelvis. A snug fit made every long stroke intoxicating as Terry set an even pace. 

The repeated squeak of the bed added to their symphony of sounds growing more rabid by the second. They were off to the races on the way to an explosive finish line. 

Terry was relentless as he kept her in place for a proper and precise fuck that reached all the way to her heart. She’d begun thinking up baby names and nursery themes when he split his attention between earth-shattering penetration and the addition of his thoughtful stimulation of her clit to cover all bases. She was just along for the ride and hoping that she could keep her volume at a reasonable level when the inevitable took over. 

Patrice was the first to cum just as Terry intended. Her back arched off the bed in near levitation while she called his full name and the Lord’s to the ceiling.

“That’s what I like, beautiful. Give me everything.” 

He smiled down at his work, obsessed with the sight and sounds of her much-deserved orgasm. She couldn’t hold back if she wanted to. Wetness coated both of them as her hips circled to feel him fill her to the brim while a rush of endorphins flowed through her nervous system.

At the crest of her wave is where he came undone. 

The involuntary clinching sent Terry into a tailspin of frenetic strokes and broken sentences with his face tucked firmly into Patrice’s neck. She comforted him through it all, speaking directly into the shell of his ear and punctuating every few words with a soft kiss. 

“I wanna do this for the rest of our lives. Don’t you want that, baby?” Terry forwent a verbal answer in favor of a short grunt as his pace became erratic. “Fill me up. Let’s try for that son you used to tell me about.” 

“Fuck, Treece.” 

“Maybe we’ll name him after you. He’ll have my eyes and your smile, hm. Think you can do that for me tonight. I know you wanna cum. Do it for me, baby. Go ahead.” 

The magic words. He came with a gruff groan and a slew of profane words that would otherwise be offensive to any outside of the bubble they’d created in those walls. His toes cramped, eyelids clamped shut, and ears rang while every breath came out shaky and labored. Patrice joined him throughout the ride until he returned to the Earth’s atmosphere. 

Neither of them moved, preferring to hear the other’s steady in and out while their chests rose and fell together. 

“One year,” Terry started, keeping his attention focused on bringing Patrice’s ring finger to his lips as he lay on her chest. 

She paused the imaginary circles she was drawing on his shoulders and looked down at him. “One year what?” 

“Gimme a year and you’ll be coming down the aisle or standing in front of the judge, whichever one you want. Where you wanna honeymoon?” 

“Mmm, how about Puerto Rico?” 

“Done. Summer wedding?”

“Early fall.” 

“10-4.” 

“Yeah,” Patrice questioned, giggling. “And what else? What’s next?” 

 “Making our parents grandparents, hopefully. I’m trynna be an honest man. Take me out the streets, please!” 

Patrice’s cackle at Terry’s antic invited him to join at full volume. “An honest man, huh? I can do that for you. I’ll make an honest man out of Terrence Richmond, no problem. It’s the least I could do.” 

“Mhmm.” Regaining some strength in his body, Terry kissed his way from her chest to her mouth, only stopping when he had her arching into him for more contact. He spoke with his nose pressed to hers. “Patrice Nicole Richmond. Sounds good, right?” 

“Sounds perfect.” 

Terry hummed his approval, preferring to get back to the worship he had planned from the moment they set off to New Orleans.

Every second in their lives, together and apart, had brought them to a new beginning that neither of them could’ve imagined. If tonight was day one of forever, they vowed before each other and God to make it glorious one day at a time. 

Terry had lost a lot. Money, family, himself. But under the white glow of a full moon and the touch of the one he cherished most, he’d gained so much more. Something he’d been searching for without the word to call it by its name until he got back to her front step one afternoon.

Love.

----

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl

[starkeyisthelastname]

stepdad rafe with a corruption kink

Reader is 18 + 🎀

He wanted you from the moment he met you. You were the prettiest thing he had ever seen, greeting him in the tiniest skirt and cropped pink tank top. You hugged him tightly, bouncy tits rubbing against his chest. You smelled fucking good, like vanilla and had glitter all over your curvy body. Your ass way too fat to be wearing that skirt. He was going to ruin you.

Rafe wasn’t one for family time, much rather being doing something else. You had then asked him if he was going to watch a movie with you and your mom. He couldn’t say no to those eyes, now finding himself watching some stupid rom com. Your mother had long fell asleep, leaving you snuggled up to him without realizing.

Rafe had been scrolling through his phone when he felt your head tuck into his bicep with a shy giggle. He looked at the tv screen on impulse, seeing that there was a sex scene. A mediocre, PG-13 one at that. He looked back down at you, snorting at the fact you were hiding from this. He was definitely curious.

“What are you hiding for, kid?” Rafe scoffed.

You blushed, looking at the screen again before looking back up into blue eyes. “That’s naughty.. Rafey.” You whispered, innocently.

Rafe felt his cock twitch as he looked down at your beautiful face. He laughed quietly, glancing over at your wine-drunk sleeping mother and then back to you. “That’s not naughty princess. When I was your age, I was doing real naughty shit.” He told you as if he was that much older than you.

Like the curious girl you were, you wondered what he meant by naughty things. Your heavy tits brushed against his arm as you turned your body towards him. “Like what?”

His chuckle sounded low and dark, his hot breath tickling your ear as he leaned in. “You don't wanna know, baby doll.” He whispered, biting your ear lobe before pulling back with a smirk.

It wasn’t but a few nights later that Rafe, had just got in bed, hand on his cock to jerk when he heard a faint knock on the door. His wife was out of town, meaning that the only person in the house was you. Slowly walking in, you noticed your step-dad wearing only a pair of boxers, the blankets pulled back.

“What are you doing in here, kid?” He asked, reaching over to turn the lamp on. “Isn't it time for you to be in bed or some shit?” His hand still on the bulge of his underwear.

You rocked back and forth on your heels, biting your lower lip as you hesitated. “I'm scared to sleep in my room tonight.” You told him, chin wobbling.

Rafe laughed, one arm coming to rest behind his head. “You are 19, and you have no problem sleeping in that room when your mom’s here.” He told you, cock hardening more as he glanced over your tight little body.

You sighed, looking down at your pedicured toes. “Can I just sleep in here, please?” You asked, voice quiet as you waited for a reply.

“Get over here.” His tone was annoyed as he moved over to the other side, leaving you his spot. You climbed into the huge bed, smiling contently as you felt better now. He let you pick something to watch, as he tried to decide if he wanted to go to the bathroom to rub one out. That wouldn't be as fun though as ruining your little self in the same bed he shared with your mother.

“You know it's too bad you are scared, acting innocent and shit. Good girls like you don’t need to be told naughty things.” He said, making you turn your attention away from the tv.

You had forgotten all about that, now curious all over again as you wanted to know. You frowned, looking at him as you crossed your arms. “But, Rafey.. I really want to know.” You begged him, bouncing on your knees.

“You wanna know, huh?” He asked amused as he watched you rapidly nodded your head. “I’ll do anything. I want to learn from you Rafey!” You pleaded back.

Rafe could have sworn he nutted right then by hearing you say those words. You made this too fucking easy to corrupt your sweet self.

“Well if you wanna sleep in my bed, you are gonna earn a spot. Yeah? Gotta teach you some respect first and then you are gonna learn to take big dick in all your holes.” He told you, giving your jaw a nudge.

[pentrologram]

advent calendar - day nineteen

You're pretty sure Simon and Johnny hate you. Pretty sure.

royalty!simon/concubine!johnny/commoner!reader

a/n; this would've been out earlier but i was busy thinking abt how markiplier and trixie are only a month and some change apart age wise. you're telling me trixie lived in a trailer the same time mark lived in a grass field?!??! (part one here)

You've been mastering the art of ignoring a lot of people.

Three months ago, royal guards had come to your home and forcibly removed you and all your belongings from your parent's home. You've been living in the castle ever since, trying to stay under the radar with surprising success.

The most you've done is say a meek hello to the maids that attended to the room you've been living in.

You took walks around the gardens, lingered in the kitchens during mealtimes, and scurried into hallways when anyone other than the servants came remotely close by you.

You've been very careful specifically about avoiding Simon and Johnny. You were terrified to think about them- surely, they resented you for inadvertently coming between their carefully constructed romance, their own bubble. You were running out of time, and rapidly, too- the wedding was next month and you've been feeling its looming presence for ages now. The maids have become more sparse as they're sent around the castle to clean up for a month of festivities despite the king's passing, and you've been interrupted in your daily routine regularly now. Perfumed paths, hair cuts, eyebrow plucking and people trying to figure out what makes you look the most youthful. It leaves you drained and you spend more time in your room as a consequence.

The exhaustion of the constant pampering is making you sloppy, though.

While walking after a long, bubbling hot bath in your rooms, you stumble upon Simon and Johnny. Again. Same spot, same position. The mortifying thing is that you didn't even notice them until you were halfway into the nook, expecting them to be empty the way they had all the months prior. You blink in surprise as Johnny looks confused and then quickly grins at you.

"Bonnie!" He says happily, and your heart aches. He should hate you- you're going to be taking Simon away from him, in a sense. You don't doubt that after the coronation, everything will go back to the way it was and you'll continue with your lonely existence.

"Hi," you say shyly, not daring to make eye contact with either of them, sorely missing the way Simon's expression softens.

"Come sit with us, hen," Johnny tries, making Simon move his bulky frame to the right more, making space for you on the marble bench.

"It's OK. I'll be off now." You say, your body already drifting away, expecting to be left alone-

-but Johnny catches your wrist with the gentleness one reserves for scared baby birds without their moms. His grin is softer around the edges now, but you don't chance to glance up at his eyes.

"Please? Y'r getting married to Si in a month, after all, don't you wanna get to know us a little better? C'mon, hen." He says, stroking circles on the inside of your wrist with his thumb.

"Um," you teeter along the edge of baulking and running the opposite edge before nodding clumsily. "Okay." You say, finding yourself sorely unused to socialising with anyone after nearly four months of isolation.

"There's a good pet," Simon rumbles, and you look up, spooked at his voice. It occurs to you that you've never heard him speak before. Your cheeks feel heated and you duck your head, before Johnny laughs, bright like sunshine.

"Aye. A real good pet."

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Bloodlove

AN: I'm a JJAM hater but, when I saw these clips of HyunSung...I couldn't help myself. I have a million other fics I'm working on but, HyunSung will always take priority lol. Also, I do want to make more banners for my fics but, I couldn't find many pictures of the two of them with (fake) blood smeared on their faces so, we're going to have to settle for the classic three photos for this one. Can't believe it's taken me this long to post something HyunSung focused.

Synopsis: The two strange men that you've developed a bit of an...odd relationship with decide to pay you another visit. They're especially famished tonight.

General tags and warnings: Hwang Hyunjin x Han Jisung x Fem! Reader, Hyunjin and Jisung are vampires, lots of blood and biting involved, they initially enter Reader's home without her consent, acquaintances to potential lovers lol?, they're all in love/infatuated with each other your honour and not much plot.

Smut tags and warnings: dubcon if you squint since Reader does all of this after HyunSung drink a substantial amount of her blood and there's one joke about compulsion but, it's not brought up after that and there's no actual compelling that happens, lots of blood and kissing with blood, lots of biting, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unintentional temperature play because they're undead, breast and nipple play (f. receiving), HyunSung being able to smell Reader's arousal, pussy sniffing once (f. receiving), dirty talk, Reader getting teary eyed, mxm but it's only kissing in this but, it's implied HyunSung have done more, petnames, manhandling (they have super strength because, y'know, vampires), piv sex without a condom, dirty talk, clawing, creampies, lots of cum, cumplay of sorts, Reader realises in real time she might have a creampie kink, unrealistic sex because they're vampires lol, marking, bruising, brief mentions of masturbation and implied aftercare.

Word count: 5.8k.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

The first thing you register is your heart thundering in your ribcage the moment you jolt out of your sleep. Bringing your shaky hand to your chest, you're not sure what startled you awake: the storm raging outside your bedroom window or whatever nightmare you were experiencing that's already rapidly fading from your memory. Your mind is having difficulty catching up to the anxiety still fresh in your veins. Remnants of sleep making everything hazy and disorientated at the edges. 

“Bad dream?” 

You nearly jump out of your skin when you finally notice the two figures who have seemingly made themselves at home on your windowsill. You nearly scream out of reflex but, your brain boots up in time to inform you that your home isn't being invaded and the two men lounging in your bedroom are not strangers. Well, they are but, not really. Half-strangers? Acquaintances? You're not sure what you'd categorise your relationship as but, it's somewhere between more than acquaintances but, definitely less than friends. 

“What are you two doing here?” You hiss, struggling to make them out in your dark room with the moon and city lights being of little help. Shooting them a deeply unamused glare while you attempt to calm your racing heart and lessen the anxiety still circulating in your system. 

“What, we can't pay our favourite girl a visit?” asks the shorter man. It may be dark but, you can see Jisung's grin clear as day. You decidedly ignore the implications of his phrasing of ‘favourite girl’ because you're already dealing with far too much right now and you doubt it's even 4 a.m. 

“I doubt you're here for just a visit,” you mumble under your breath, reaching for the water bottle you keep on your nightstand. Taking a generous sip that significantly helps you feel better and less like a mess of stress and dehydration. 

“Are you complaining? That'd be a first,” the taller man chimes in, amusement colouring his voice and heating your blood in a way you're not sure you'll ever be ready to think too much about. The awful part is, he's not wrong. Whatever this…arrangement the three of you have has gone on without any hitches for months now. You're not sure why you let them slip into your apartment and drink from you. In the few instances that you've really sat with yourself and attempted to find out why, nothing that feels valid has come up. Pity? Who pities vampires of all people? A sense of duty? What duty should you feel to strangers? A gesture of kindness? You'd like to think you're a decent person but, this is far beyond the scope of simple generosity. 

So, what is it? 

“I'm complaining because you two snuck into my room while I was asleep and scared the shit out of me. Usually you do this while I'm, you know, awake and with some kind of head's up,” you respond, setting your bottle back down and looking at the two men. Well, they're far beyond ordinary men but, the word ‘vampire’ still feels so foreign on your tongue and even in your thoughts. The two of them have always seemed deeply connected to each other from the moment they approached you that fateful Friday night. Moving towards you like a well-oiled machine, their steps in time with one another. 

“Sorry,” at least Hyunjin has the decency to sound half-sincere but, the hunger in his eyes betrays him, “We're just starving and it's been a month,” is the explanation he offers as though you three haven't been doing this for months now. What an absurd turn your life has taken. If you ever found the courage to tell Minho and Seungmin about this, you're certain your best friends would think you'd watched the Twilight movies one too many times and have certifiably lost your mind. They wouldn't be entirely wrong either. 

Shoving your heavy blanket to the side, you expose your body for them to ogle thoroughly. You don't have to look up at them to know they're burning holes into you right now. The excitement from them is palpable. It rolls off of them in waves. You still haven't quite managed to not feel on edge after all this time but, it's not fear or dread that churns in the pit of your stomach. 

“Well, I'm ready. Have it,” is all you say, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. You're sure the two of them would never harm you but, you've made it a habit to keep these…sessions as clinical as possible. Holding them at a safe distance. Which, frankly, sounds insane since they regularly invade your personal space to drink your blood. Maybe you have lost it and this is all a months long hallucination. 

Jisung startles you out of your thoughts by placing a cool hand on your thigh. Goosebumps erupt on your skin instantaneously and you resist the impulse to shudder when his molten eyes find yours, “I'm just gonna move you a little. Make both of us a little more comfortable,” and just like that you find yourself tugged to the edge of your bed as though you were the same weight as a feather. His display of strength prompts you to claw at your sheets briefly. The first time he did this, you thought it was all a ploy to get you into bed but, true to his word, he really was only interested in your blood. You tried not to let your disappointment show at the time. Now, as his fingers ghost over your thighs and he kneels between them, dragging his nose along your inner thigh, it's still so incredibly hard not to let your thoughts wander. 

Thankfully, you've grown accustomed to the pain so, you only flinch minimally when he sinks his fangs into your skin. The groan that drags itself out of the depths of his chest goes decidedly ignored by you. Hyunjin slinks his way behind you, long fingers gently tilting your head to the side for easier access. His approach is what you'd been expecting the first time. The classic vampire. In the glimpses you've gotten of the two, Hyunjin does seem like more of the idea of a vampire you've been fed since you were eleven. His hair tickles the parts of your skin it touches, providing some reprieve from the pinch his bite brings. 

You've always wondered why they do this together. Why not have their own individual moment with you? To feed from you? Maybe this just helps them save time. Maybe it's some weird vampire bylaw that you're too human to understand. It's such an odd sensation feeling your blood leave your body this way. Even now, it's dizzying and fogs up your brain. It doesn't help that they seem especially hungry tonight so, they're drinking much faster than you've grown used to. It's not unpleasant, though. Just…different. Still a touch unfamiliar. 

Surprisingly, Jisung is the first one to stop. He isn't exactly the best at showing restraint.  The handful of times Hyunjin has had to butt in by either forcibly telling him to stop or dragging him by his hair off of you speak for themselves. So, you're left a little confused when he unlatches himself from your thigh of his own freewill and looks up at you. Something horrible, animalistic and wanton simmers in the pit of your stomach when you notice the fresh blood generously smeared across his lips and parts of his cheeks. Your blood is all over his handsome face while he's staring at you from between your thighs. It was easier before. When he'd just drink your blood, heal you with his saliva and disappear with Hyunjin into the night. Having him here, looking like this is far more than you can take.  

“I can smell you, you know,” he says, a lazy drawl in his voice and you notice the drop in octave immediately. His eyes that are usually alight with hunger look different. They burn with something else entirely. A different kind of hunger that makes your heart leap into your throat and your pussy pulse. 

“Wh-What?” comes your intelligent reply, “Smell me?” you'd like to think you're trying your best with the loop you've been thrown for. 

Hyunjin chooses then to stop feeding off of you. This time, you fail spectacularly at shoving down the shudder that runs down your spine when his cool breath hits the shell of the ear. The smell of your blood drifting to your nostrils, invading your senses, “He means he can smell how aroused you are,” he whispers into your ear as if Jisung can't hear him perfectly well from where he's kneeling. 

His words shatter your brain for a few seconds. All you can do is blink while your brain attempts to make sense of what they've both said. The lack of blood isn't helping. True to fiction, you know their smelling abilities are far beyond that of any human. Sparse conversation over the time you've been doing this has clued you in enough but, it didn't occur to you that that particular ability could be used beyond smelling blood. 

“We don't want to scare you,” Hyunjin mutters gently, large hands ghosting over your waist but, not providing you with the relief of actually touching you. You wonder, briefly, whether compulsion is one of their powers too because the lull in his voice causes your lids to droop and your stomach to twist in a way that isn't wholly unpleasant. “It's just– we– you– you're something else,” he pauses for a second and you're not sure if it's to collect himself or something else entirely, “We haven't felt this way about someone in decades.” The pure yearning in his tone throws you completely. Your eyes widening as you try and process everything he's said while your blood trickles out of you. 

“We?” you ask in only what can be described as a combination of awe and confusion, glancing at the man between your thighs whose scorching gaze hasn't left you and Hyunjin for a second. Your blood is still all over his face. 

“Yes,” Jisung answers immediately and you've never heard one word carry so much weight, “Why do you think we only come to you? Why we only drink from you?” 

You thought the whole them being vampires and drinking from you thing was a lot but, this is a whole different league. Hyunjin allows himself to gently lay his hand on you in what you can only assume is a gesture meant to ease your nerves but, it does the complete opposite. “I didn't know you two only fed off of me,” you whisper, trying your best to gather your bearings. Fiddling with your sheets and avoiding looking at either of them in the hopes that you don't say or do something incredibly stupid. Well, more stupid. 

“I'm– I need to know what you two want from you,” you whisper, afraid that if you speak any louder that you'll shatter the delicate bubble the three of you are in. 

“We just want you,” Jisung answers without a second thought and you wonder just how many times the two of them have spoken about this. “In whatever way you'll let us have you,” Hyunjin adds just as quickly but, no less passionately. His grip on you tightening but, his loosens it before you can even blink. 

You blink harshly. Stars dancing behind your eyelids. You really are about to do something very, very dumb, aren't you? 

“I don't know what I want from this. From you two but, I–I um think I want to see where this goes. So, o–okay,” you whisper, still not looking at either of them. Your heart races when Hyunjin carefully grasps your face so, you have no choice but, to look at him. The hunger and lust you somewhat expected to be present in his eyes are there but, there's a quiet softness in them too that's making it really difficult for you to breathe, “We'll take it slow, okay?” He assures you, leaning down and giving you ample time to tell him no or push him away but, you don't. Because you want this. You want him. You want Jisung. You want them. 

Surprising perhaps everyone in the room, you close the distance between the two of you. You kiss him clumsily and are a little taken aback to taste your blood on his lips but, it's not off-putting. In fact, you might even like it a little. Hyunjin doesn't give you much time to ponder on that thought because he's kissing you back with so much enthusiasm, large hands making themselves at home on your waist, palming every inch of you he can. You gasp into his mouth when you feel Jisung licking at his bite marks, closing them up. Hyunjin's tongue snakes its way into your mouth just as Jisung litters your inner thigh with sticky, bloodied kisses. 

“Is it okay if I taste you?” He asks and you're not sure you could answer him properly even without Hyunjin's seeming determination not to let your mouth free. Whether it's the lack of oxygen and blood going to your brain, you feel just the slightest bit delirious and with delirium apparently comes confidence. Your hand finds the hem of your sleeping gown easily and you tug it up your thighs haphazardly, exposing as much of your slick folds to him as you can and hoping he takes the very obvious green light. 

Fortunately for both of you, Jisung is not an idiot and he snatches the invitation as readily as you offer it. Hyunjin let's you have a moment to breathe just as Jisung shoves himself impossibly close to you, acting as though there's no other place he'd rather be than with his head between your thighs and his hands burning imprints into them. “You smell so good,” Hyunjin groans behind you, pressing bloody kisses into your neck and lapping up the blood that's trickled out of you and dried on your skin. Large hands softly kneading your tits over your gown, drinking in every reaction you offer to both of them. 

“She smells even better here,” Jisung comments before pressing his nose into your pussy and inhaling deeply. Embarrassment and desire heat your face and make your walls clench in equal parts. “Ji–Jisung,” you hiss but, it sounds more like a whimper than anything else. He doesn't respond but, you feel him smirk against you. Watching you like a hawk as he takes his first taste of you, his tongue dragging itself from your entrance to your clit. His firm grasp keeps you from bucking your hips into his face. “I bet you taste wonderful, sweetheart,” Hyunjin drawls against your skin, dragging his fangs along your neck while he tugs your gown down to let your tits bounce free. He laughs breathlessly into your neck when Jisung hums in conformation. “Maybe I'll get to taste you later too,” he whispers and you don't have much time to dwell on the thought because Jisung starts lapping at your clit with unabashed enthusiasm. 

Hyunjin keeps you thoroughly in his grasp when your body attempts to jolt from the flurry of sensations its hit with. You couldn't stop the drawn out moans and curses that fall from your lips even if you wanted to. Your eyes flutter and wetness further smears Jisung's face with every kiss and lick. Hyunjin, for his part, has grown thoroughly infatuated with your tits. Kneading them in his massive hands and groaning into your skin every time he toys with your nipples to gauge what you like the best. You think he nearly bites you again when he discovers a drag of his thumbs is all it takes for you to mewl in his hold and seek out his mouth. He readily kisses you. Pouring what you can only imagine is months worth of frustration and desire into this kiss. You can practically taste it. Well, that and your blood. 

He steadies you when Jisung presses two fingers against your dripping entrance. You can feel the way he watches you slowly swallow them. They slip in easily given how beyond wet you are and the strained ‘fuck’ that he whispers makes you grip him tighter. They feel…odd. Not uncomfortable or unwelcome but, just different from what you're used to. Their coolness is foreign but, Jisung uses that to his advantage given how scorching your walls are. “Fuck,” he moans against your pussy, giving your clit a second to breathe, “How is everything about you so good? You taste good, you feel even better,” he mutters, a bit fucked out before knocking the wind out of you by sucking on you while dragging his cold fingers along your sensitive walls. 

“Hyun-Hyunjin,” you cry into his mouth, grasping his forearm for…what? You don't know but it helps. “I've got you, my angel,” he replies without a second thought, nipping at your bottom lip while his hands and Jisung's mouth and fingers force you closer to an edge you hadn't even realised you were approaching. 

When did your other hand find its way into Jisung's hair? 

The thought evaporates from your mind the moment Jisung's fingers find the spot inside of that causes your vision to dance and your thighs to clamp around his head. Not that he minds even the slightest bit. He seems more determined with etching the taste of your pussy into his taste buds and bringing you to the brink of insanity with his fingers. Hyunjin greedily swallows all of the noises the two of them pluck from you. Only stopping when you have to separate for air, not that his mouth leaves you. Immediately attaching itself to every part of your shoulder he can reach. Heavy eyes watching the way your tits fill his hands and the way your back bows when he pinches your nipples a touch too harshly. 

“Hyun–Ji–I'm so–I think–” your tongue feels like it weighs a million kilograms all of a sudden and, it's really, really hard to speak or think beyond the two men touching and tasting you. “It's okay, beloved,” Hyunjin hushes against your neck, “You want to let go for us, don't you?” you're not sure what sounds more tempting: his suggestion or his voice. “You want to cum for us, right?” He continues, giving your tits an especially harsh squeeze and rutting his hard cock against your lower back, “Cum all over Sungie’s face while I play with your beautiful tits, huh?” 

Something within you snaps. Whether it's your sanity or the proverbial knot in the pit of your stomach, you're not sure but, you become undone within an instant. You don't think you've ever cum this hard in your life. Everything sounds distant and feels hazy but, you do feel Hyunjin and Jisung keeping you from totally crumpling onto your bed. Vaguely, you make out one of them saying ‘pretty’ and what you assume is another one of them saying ‘so hot.’ You're not sure how long it takes for you to come back to yourself but, eventually, you do. Blinking open bleary eyes to find Jisung staring at you with a mess of your wetness and blood all over the lower half of his face. It's easily the hottest image you've ever seen in your life and you hope you never forget it. 

“You okay?” Hyunjin asks behind you, large hands having drifted from your tits to soothing run along your waist while you attempt to steady your breathing and stop your thighs from shaking. “Ye-Yeah,” you reply, cringing a little at the hoarseness in your voice, “That was just um a lot and I need a–a second but, I'm good,” you finish, giving them a weak smile that you hope conveys that you are really okay despite the way your thighs quiver. 

“Thank fuck. I was worried we might have gone too far,” Jisung pipes up for the first time in what feels like ages. The depth of his voice makes your stomach drop and you bite back a whimper at the way your sensitive pussy reacts to him. Could your body give you a second? You just came, Jesus Christ. 

“Come here.” 

The words shake you out of your thoughts and you think he's talking to you but, before you can blink he's on his feet and dragging Hyunjin into a mess of spit and tongue by his hair. All you can do is watch the two of them with your mouth parted and your fingers attempting to find leverage in your sheets. You were so wrong. This is easily the hottest image you've ever seen in your fucking life. Your clit throbs and walls clench when Jisung pulls away and pins you down with a look that's far too knowing and smug for your liking. “What? Don't look at me like that,” he has the nerve to sound amused while you're sitting here already wound up. Again. “I just wanted Jinnie to have a taste of your sweet pussy, that's all,” he licks his upper lip for good measure and you're pretty sure you've never wanted to throttle someone more than right now.

“He wasn't wrong,” Hyunjin groans into your ear, his hands gripping your hips fiercely, pressing you against him and making you feel the outline of his cock, “You taste…divine,” the reverence in his voice makes goosebumps arise on your skin and you honestly think you might die if you don't have the two of them right now. 

“Please, please I want–I need to feel both of you. It hurts. I feel so empty and I'm so wet–”

Hyunjin and Jisung seemingly have no reservations about taking the next step in whatever the three of you have because you're blinking up at them within a flash, both of their eyes flashing with intent and want so visceral that your heart leaps in your chest. Hyunjin is the first to move. Positioning himself between your thighs and descending on your mouth immediately. “You have no idea how long we've been waiting for this,” he mutters before pulling away from you. You're about to complain but, he discards your gown faster than you can process. Leaving you totally exposed to the two of you.

“You're so beautiful,” Jisung whispers from somewhere above you and, your eyes catch his as he lounges against your headboard. He shoots you a lazy smile and it does terrible things to your heart. Before you can dwell too much about why he's sitting there you hear rustling and focus your attention back on Hyunjin. 

You're thoroughly unprepared for the sight of a shirtless Hyunjin impatiently tugging his pants and boxers down his slender hips. Seeing him without a shirt is earth shattering in its own right but, watching the way his hand wraps around his cock makes your bedroom spin a little. He has the audacity to shoot you a little grin like his cock isn't inches away from your weeping entrance and you don't hear Jisung's own staggered breathing behind you. His eyes never leave your face. Even as he shuffles closer to you. Even when his hands gently rest against your thighs. Even when his cock rests on your pussy. 

“Is this okay?” He whispers, dragging his cock along your slit and your body jolts totally without your consent when his tip brushes against your clit. “Ah, yes. Yes. Hyunjin please just–” you words are halted by a gasp when he slowly starts to push into you. You shouldn't be shocked at this point but, he's colder than you expect. And longer. And thicker. You can barely make out his face in the haze you're in and all you can do is let your mouth hang open when he finally bottoms out. His grip on your thighs tightens and his hand finds a home in the hollow of your throat while he gives you a bit to adjust to stretch. 

Without much thought, your hands find his broad back and he must read that as some sort of sign because he's pulling out before snapping back inside of you after that. The air is punched out of your lungs but, he continues. Gradually finding a pace that has your toes curling and your nails digging into the cool skin of his back. “You can claw at me all you want,” he whispers in your ear. Chuckling at the way your pussy tightens around him and your fingers follow his suggestion without your prompting. “I'm not one of those mortals,” he continues, “I can take it.” 

And so you do. Basking in the freedom of letting him know just how much you're enjoying being fucked on his cock and his hands more than likely leaving your thighs bruised. The thought of covered in their marks makes your pussy clench and you can't help but, wish they were both touching you right now. 

Hyunjin kisses down your neck until he reaches one of your tits. Covering them in kisses and licks. Grazing them with his fangs and delighting in the way you shudder underneath him. You're a woman on a mission, though. Turning your head until you find Jisung's hooded eyes and his hand around his cock. The sight makes your lips part and even more of your wetness gush onto Hyunjin's cock. 

“Ji–Jisung,” you whine trying your best to look at his handsome face but, it's incredibly challenging when his pretty cock is right there. “Want you too ah,” you manage to gasp out just as Hyunjin sinks his fangs into your tit, sipping on your blood while his pace increases and the obscene sounds of him fucking you echo through your bedroom. Jisung doesn't respond at first. Perhaps needing a second. Then, before you can blink, he's leaning down and devouring you whole with his mouth. Swallowing all of your mewls and whimpers and moans as though he needs them to live. 

“You're killing me here, baby,” he groans against your lips when he finally remembers you need air, “I want nothing more than to fuck you with Jinnie but, we don't know if you'll be able to take it. Maybe next time, okay?” He soothes, toying with your hair and giving you a smile that's filled with promise. You want to tell him you can. You can more than take both of them right now but, you can barely think coherently let alone speak so, all you do is pout and nod in resignation. “Don't give me that look,” he laughs, kissing you once again, “I'll make love to you as soon as Jinnie is done.” 

You may not be experiencing them at the same time but, you can live with them both…making love to you as Jisung put it. He leaves you with one more kiss, letting you focus on the other vampire currently, painstakingly slowly drinking from your tit while he snaps his hips into you. You never thought you'd want them to drink from you so badly but, watching the way Hyunjin revels in your taste, you can't help the fire it fans in the very core of your being. 

“Hyunjin,” you moan and that's all it takes for him to lick his way into your mouth and fold you further into your mattress. You're certain you'll feel the ache in your thighs tomorrow but, you couldn't care less. “You're gonna make me cum,” he moans into your mouth, snapping his hips faster and faster into you while hiz grip on you remains steadfast, “Gonna make me fill up this gorgeous, pretty, tight, hot pussy,” he continues, and you feel him throb inside you and you don't think you've ever wanted someone to cum inside you so intensely. 

“I fuck want it,” you respond, your fingers finding their way into his hair, “Want you to cum inside me, Hyu–Jinnie.” And just like that he slams his mouth into yours and holds you in place while he fills you with his cum as promised. It's cold but, not awful. Outside of how hot he sounds whimpering into your mouth, you're struck by the fact that he's still hard and his cum seems unending. Already starting to trickle out of you while he's still cumming. The realisation causes you to cling to him tighter and your walls to clench around him, milking him for as much as he'll give you. Fuck. 

Eventually, it does stop and he kisses you much gentler now. Even pressing playful kisses along your cheeks and your nose. “You're so pretty,” he sighs dreamily like you hung the moon in the sky just for them. He gives you one last kiss before leaning back and pulling out of you. You knew he was still hard but, seeing it with your own two eyes is a whole different matter. All you can do is blink in astonishment and watch it bob, covered in a mixture of your combined fluids. “It's a vampire perk,” is his explanation and you can tell he and Jisung are trying really hard not to laugh at your shock. 

“It's definitely one of the fun parts,” Jisung adds while tugging off his shirt. You're not sure where or when his pants disappeared but, you're not complaining. “So can you guys like just…cum and stay hard all time?” You ask looking between the two for some sort of sense to be found in all of this. “Not all the time,” Hyunjin replies, making himself at home at the foot of your bed. It's a little hard to focus on what he's saying when he's naked and posed like a Greek god but, you persevere, “But vampires have significantly better stamina than humans. It takes a lot to really wear us out,” he finishes, gesturing vaguely to his still very hard cock for emphasis. 

Before you can think to ask how they get hard to begin with since you don't think they have blood and what exactly their cum consists of, Jisung invades your personal space. His kisses are needy and desperate. His hands practically shake from how much he wants you and, if you're being honest, your ego is going to be through the roof after tonight. “Waited for this for so long,” he mutters into your mouth, positioning himself between your stained thighs. The mixture of Hyunjin's cum and your own wetness provide Jisung with more than enough to sink into you with ease. He's not as big as Hyunjin but, your eyes flutter and toes curl all the same. 

“Fuck, you're so perfect,” he grits out into the hollow of your throat before starting to move. Jisung seems to read you pretty well because his pace isn't slow or gentle and, for that, you're grateful. He fucks you thoroughly, making sure you feel every part of him while his hands explore every expanse of your body they can. Much like Hyunjin, he's especially into your tits. Savoring every gasp and arch of your back he can coax out of you. A garbled mess of his name and a curse fall from your lips when he sinks his fangs into your other breast. Unlike Hyunjin, Jisung doesn't drink slowly. He's greedy. Bloodthirsty. Blood smearing across his mouth while his pace picks up considerably. 

Tears spring to the corner of your eyes when he drags his thumb along your swollen clit. His grasp on your hip keeps you firmly in place. Forcing you to feel every sensation and, it hits you all at once just how close you've been. 

“Ji– oh my god– Jisung,” you cry out, gripping your sheets out of the sheer need to just ground yourself with something. Jisung watches you like a hawk the entire time. Lidded eyes only drifting between your thighs from time to time to watch the way he fucks Hyunjin's cum out of you but, he's more focused on your face. He has to see you when you finally shatter. He has to. 

It's a particular harsh circle he draws with his thumb that finally pushes you over the edge. Thankfully, he lets you catch your breath. Slowing down his pace considerably and slowly fucking you through your climax while he holds your hips. If you weren't on a totally different planet, you'd notice his attempt at soothing you with the circles he rubs into your skin. Still, despite his best efforts to let you come back to yourself, he's a goner the second you blink those teary eyes open and look straight at him. 

A weak whimper is all you can muster when you feel him cum. It honestly doesn't make any sense how hot he is. How hot they both are. You'd gladly give into the unconsciousness you can feel creeping up on you any other time but, right now you're too enamored with watching the way his inky hair sticks to his face and the way his mouth hangs open while he fills you to the point of leakage. Yeah, you've definitely never felt this full before and you're wondering whether the way your pussy flutters at the knowledge is something you even have the energy to unpack tonight. 

He gives you one last kiss before pulling out of you. You're sure you look like a total wreck right now and you can only imagine the state your sheets are in. However, sleep is calling your name and you can already feel yourself starting to drift off. 

“We know you're probably tired but, we need to clean you up, beloved,” Hyunjin says, startling you awake. The apologetic look he gives you is sweet but, you're so exhausted. You doubt you could move even if you wanted to. 

“But ‘m tired,” you mutter, rolling onto your side. 

“We know, baby but, we gotta clean you up and change your sheets,” Jisung chimes in, sounding as apologetic as Hyunjin looks. Before you can argue further, you find yourself in what you quickly realise are Hyunjin's arms. Blinking up at the man while he carries you like you weigh nothing in the direction of your bathroom. 

How does he still manage to look so pretty? 

“I'll help you clean up while Ji changes your sheets,” he says with a smile and you try your hardest to ignore the gymnastics routine your heart is doing. Jisung shoots you an equally as endearing smile over Hyunjin's shoulder before focusing his attention back on trying to clean up the travesty that is your bed at the moment. God, his ass is so cute. 

Allowing yourself to relax in Hyunjin's arms, maybe whatever your new normal is won't be so bad after all.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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Stray Kids Masterlist | Ko-Fi

[corrodedbisexual]

Modern-ish Steddie AU where they meet in jail.

Steve shouldn't even be here; he got arrested for shoplifting, but it was all a misunderstanding. He was actually trying to prevent a shoplifting when he saw a couple of kids stuffing chocolate bars into their jacket pockets. They bolted, and he chased after them; unfortunately, he was still holding a bottle of (rather expensive) wine in hand as he did that, so he ended up the perceived cause of the blaring store alarm while the two shitheads escaped with zero consequences.

The store's got security cameras. So it will probably be fine, right? It will all be resolved soon enough. Steve just has to wait.

What makes him more nervous is the guy he's sharing the cell with.

Wild curly hair, tattoos all over his exposed arms and one peeking out of the collar of his shirt, the man wears orange like he was born in it. He seems to be about Steve's age, in his early 20s, but it's hard to tell. When Steve's brought in, he's lounging carelessly on his bed, trying to fold a piece of toilet paper into what looks like a crane.

The guy looks dangerous; who knows what could provoke him. Steve just settles quietly into the corner of his own bed at the opposite wall, drawing his knees up to his chin and trying to keep his head down. Literally.

Except every time he glances up, the man's rather intense stare is on him. Five minutes into this awkward silence, Steve can't handle it anymore, so he clears his throat and speaks up, still choosing to look at the floor.

"So, uh... what are you in for?"

He cringes immediately. It's probably the worst possible question to ask, and one most likely to get you a punch in the face. But when Steve looks up, he finds his cellmate fully grinning, now busying himself with tearing the toilet paper into little bits.

"Oh, just a bit of murder," he answers casually. "Our lord Satan requires sacrifice, you know."

Steve's almost convinced the guy's fucking with him (because surely, murder suspects are placed in separate cells from the minor offense folk, right?) but he's still a little terrified.

The guy (Eddie, Steve finally learns the name, although that might not be a real one) keeps talking, throwing balls of paper into the toilet by the wall. He keeps missing; there's little bits of white all over the floor already.

He says he's been to prison twice. Grand theft auto and arson. Escaped both times, apparently. He's planning an escape right now, too. Goes on, with a manic grin and wild gestures, about how one of the guards is actually a member of his cult, has got him covered.

It all has to be bullshit. It has to be. Steve doesn't dare comment on it, because at the small chance that it's actually true, he's fucked if he pisses this guy off.

A single paper ball finally lands inside the toilet, and Eddie whoops so loudly that Steve almost jumps.

"Aaaand the crowds cheer, boys'n'girls all going wild screaming his name!" Eddie yells, rapidly drumming his palms on his thighs. "It's the rising star of the new hot game of pottyball, it's Eddieee Munsooon!"

Yeah, so whatever the man was or wasn't lying about, Steve's not about to engage. Eddie's clearly all kinds of insane, he thinks, watching out of the corner of his eye as the guy, seemingly over his silly little game, starts wrapping the toilet paper around his head like a turban.

Except five minutes later, Eddie apparently decides that Steve's much better entertainment than toilet paper. He rolls off the bed and strolls across the tiny cell, stopping right in front of Steve, who in turn is doing his best to become one with the concrete wall behind him. With a shit-eating grin, Eddie strikes a pose, hip jutted out and one hand trying to keep the unsteady headgear in place.

"D'you think I look like a beautiful prince, Stevie?" He asks, batting his eyelashes. (Oh god, why did Steve tell him his real name, what was he thinking.) "Would you go on a magic carpet ride with me?"

Steve can't help it. He bursts out laughing. It almost sounds like Eddie's trying to flirt with him, except Steve stands by his insane conviction, because who the fuck flirts like that?!

The laughter doesn't seem to deter Eddie. He's grinning even wider now, and then he plants both hands on the bed on each side of Steve and leans in, tilting his head.

"Well aren't you pretty when you smile, princess."

Cold sweat runs down the back of Steve's neck as a sudden implication of what might be happening here hits him. He's only heard about it from like, movies and stuff, but does this actually happen? Oh shit. Is Steve gonna become this guy's prison bitch? Jail bitch, technically?

What's worse, a tiny voice in Steve's head suggests that maybe it's not so bad, actually. Eddie's a lunatic, but at least he's hot. (Really hot, if Steve's honest with himself.) And terrifying, so nobody would mess with Steve so long as he's Eddie's... whatever.

Thankfully, Steve's saved from further contemplating his hypothetical future prison life by a key rattling in the cell's lock; Eddie immediately leans back and jumps across the room, so by the time Chief Hopper steps through the door, he's already sitting cross-legged on his bed, hands folded in his lap, a picture of pure innocence.

Hopper turns to Steve first, something apologetic in his voice as he says, "We viewed the security camera footage, you're free to go, Harrington."

With a relieved huff, Steve scrambles to get up. Meanwhile, Hopper turns his attention to Eddie, regards the half-fallen-apart ridiculousness on his head, rolls his eyes and heaves a tired-sounding sigh.

"You too, Munson. Next time someone dares you to streak through a public space, just pick truth instead, would ya?"

Ten minutes later, they both walk outside in their street clothes. Well, Steve's in his street clothes; Eddie's only garment is a thin grey medical blanket Hopper's helpfully provided him with. Eddie's wrapped it around himself like a toga.

"So..." Steve turns to him and smirks. "How much exactly of what you said in there was total bullshit?"

Eddie cackles at the question. "I'd say about... ninety percent. I clearly am a rising star of pottyball, you know." He waits a beat for Steve to laugh, then adds, "And you do have a very pretty smile."

Steve bites his lip, feeling heat in his cheeks at the compliment. In the light of day, outside the cell, it's like he sees Eddie for the first time, in his silly blanket toga, squinting at the bright sunlight. And he feels ridiculous about ever thinking this man could be dangerous. Insane? Probably. Full of shit? Oh, definitely. Hot? Yes, very much. Dangerous though? Laughable.

And so, Steve finds himself asking, "Wanna get coffee and tell me something real about yourself?"

Eddie looks surprised by the offer, his smile turning a little bashful, and he hides behind a lock of hair before looking down at himself and chuckling.

"I'm probably gonna need some clothes first."

"Nah," Steve teases, briefly checking him out. "You're rocking this outfit."

"And you're absolutely right, I am, but unfortunately this thing is about five seconds from falling apart," Eddie pointedly fixes the half-loosened knot on his shoulder. "And something tells me Hopper won't be so lenient about repeated public indecency."

Steve giggles and finally takes pity on the guy. "Okay, my car's parked, like, two blocks from here. I have some clean gym clothes you can borrow."

"Lead the way, pretty boy," Eddie grins and follows him with a goofy little twirl.

Divider credit

[delphi-shield]

:// sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ / ʙɪʟʟʏ.ʙᴜᴛᴄʜᴇʀ

Billy Butcher x Reader smut, hurt/no comfort wc: ~5.2k mdni read on ao3 digging the worms out of my brain real quick since i finally caught up with the boys. idk i think i worked through something personal with this, so like, that's a win for me.

summary: Butcher knows better than to be fucking around with you, but there's 50 quid in it for him if he gets you to call him 'daddy'. Easy money.

content: s4 spoilers, dubcon, butcher's pov, an exorbitant amount of kessler in the first half, age gap, general sleazy behavior, handjob, finger fucking, piv, pussy slapping, some just the tip action, blowjob, mentions of titfucking, degradation, general objectification, public sex, not proofread.

“Makes you realize men have nipples too.”

The bar is packed for a Wednesday night, but Butcher already knows exactly what Kessler is talking about. You’re a ditch lily, sitting tall in this shithole. He turns his head away, pretends he doesn't see the way you lick up a trail of spilled cosmopolitan from the side of your glass, pink tongue parting your lips, eyes half-shut. 

Fucking typical. Kessler could sniff out daddy issues and sadness from a mile away, and he was lethal at half that distance. He could have them wrapped around his finger in the time it took Butcher to take a piss.

His eyes linger. A thing like you doesn't belong in a dump like this. This is the sort of place girls like you stumble into at 1 AM, survey the crowd through the haze of cigarette smoke, and wobble right back out onto the streets, take your chances with the elements rather than the haggard, unfriendly crowd that hunches over their drinks.

Butcher likes Midwest 10's. Begs Kessler to stop ogling barely legal co-eds, says he's not some sleazy cunt in a John Hughes film. He can lie all he wants. If it makes him hard, it makes Butcher hard. 

He glances sidelong at your face. You've got this Christmas-light bright smile that makes his dick jerk. Kessler’s more than under his skin. He’s in his veins, in the same blood that raises his cock up like a goddamn bicycle pump when you lean over the bar, arms squeezing your tits together.

"You could probably fuck 'em." Kessler tips his head to the side, eyes locked on your cleavage. His eyes narrow, lips pursed, evaluating your chest and charting a course for his dick to travel.

"Shut up."

"Huh?"

Fuck. Your tip your head to the side from two seats away, brows pinched together. Cute, in a lost little lamb kind of way.

Butcher's eyes cut to Kessler. He's cocked it all up now. The sly, punchable grin on Kessler’s face turns him back to his drink. He drains his glass and gestures for another. If he doesn’t look at you, if he keeps drinking, this all goes away.

"Nothin'. Don't you worry about it, love."

That should be the end of it, but you’ve clearly got something wrong with you. You fiddle with your purse, pluck up your courage, and drop yourself onto the barstool next to him. Whether you’ve got no sense of self-preservation or you’re just that damn oblivious, he doesn’t intend to get to know you well enough to find out. Butcher's strained smile doesn't do much to smooth the worry lines away.

Kessler chuckles, leans back and props his elbows up on the bar. Cunt just wants to watch him squirm.

"No," Kessler corrects, drawing the word out. "I want you to get some pussy."

His eyes dart over to Kessler, looming over you, hands ghosting up your arms to squeeze your shoulders. He blinks rapidly, rubs at his face, tries to play it off like he's nervous or tired or whatever the fuck but when he looks down, there's your tits again. Butcher lolls his head back to the ceiling. Laugh it up, you fuckin’ cunt.

And Kessler does. Makes a show of slapping his hand on his thigh, head knocked back, grinning toothily.

He tries to ignore you, but you’re straddling that stool next to him in your little skirt and ordering another cosmo. This isn’t the kind of bar for cocktails, and he knows without even seeing the bartender’s eye roll that he hates you.

It's none of his business. He ought to keep himself sat there drowning in his drink ‘til last call and past that, make them throw him out on the street, give him a reason to swing first. It's a better idea than messing with you.

The bartender drops your drink off in front of you and turns before the words ‘thank you’ leave your glossy lips. Another sickly pink cocktail with a dried out lime dropped on top. Butcher can’t help himself. He’s got a soft spot for the clueless.

“Cheery bloke, isn't he?” He says, casting a sidelong glance at the bartender. He taps a finger against the bartop, inclines his head toward your cocktail. “That the only drink you know the name of?”

Your cheeks warm. You hide it behind a hand, turning your face away from him to laugh.

“What? No. I just think they taste good.”

Kessler snorts. “That’s a fat load of shit.”

Butcher agrees. His mouth twists into a half-hearted smile. He slides his glass over to you. 

“Try it,” he insists.

There’s hardly a passing thought for your own safety. You look between his scotch and his face and seem to decide it’s safe to take drinks from strange old fucks in bars. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, warm and soft - sticky. You must be more sloshed than you look, must keep spilling your drinks. Hell, for all he knows, maybe this place does make the best cosmo in the city. Maybe the bartender just hates your ass because you keep making a mess.

You don’t even ask what he’s drinking. (Maybe this is all a grift, he thinks. Kessler’s at his ear, chuckling - she ain’t bright enough for that.) You lift his glass and leave your lipstick behind.

“Oh my god.” You sputter, pound a fist against your chest. It makes your tits bounce. Fucking miracle your shirt is containing those things. “That tastes like ass.”

“That is the highest quality scotch this bar serves.”

“It tastes like someone put a cigarette out in a glass of whiskey.”

“It’s a shit bar.”

You laugh, head tipped back, nose scrunched - the works. You’re too tipsy for it to be on purpose. Being cute comes naturally to you. Must be how you’ve made it this far.

You pass his drink back and scoot your cosmo closer to you, spilling it as the glass skips over the pock-marked countertop. Butcher snorts, dabs it up for you with his sleeve. He’s starting to think his theory about the cosmopolitans might hold true.

“Well, here, a trade’s a trade.” He takes your drink by the stem (fucking amazed they even have martini glasses in this place) and pounds back a mouthful.

It isn’t that bad, but he makes a show of scrunching his nose and shaking his head. He slides your drink back over to you and mirrors the way you had clung to your drink.

“You’re kidding,” you laugh. “It’s better than yours. I don’t know how you drink that.”

“I’ll keep my liquid ashtray, thanks.”

Your eyes are all lit up when you smile, but it emphasizes the raw edges, the puffiness that lingers. Rough night for you, by the looks of it. Not like he’s having much of a better one.

There’s no harm in it. No harm in showing you what a proper drink tastes like, broadening your horizons and helping you both forget what a shit hand you’ve been dealt. He buys you a drink on the condition that you try something that isn’t a cosmopolitan. You can hardly stomach a whiskey and coke. He orders you a fernet and coke for shits and giggles, expects you to spit it out like all the rest, barks out a laugh when you declare it’s tasty, notes of lavender drawing you in. Notes of lavender - Christ, what fucking suburb did you pop out of? 

He introduces you to more drinks, leans closer with each empty glass. You're new here, you tell him. You tell him your name, too, not that he remembers. Got stood up on some shitty date. He knows it’s got to be shitty because what idiot in his right mind would take you here, of all places?

By the time he orders you both shots of Rumple Minze, you’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. Your hand splays against his chest, head leaning against him. You lift his shot to his lips for him and he’s too drunk to find it childish and irritating. He downs it and does the same for you, watches you extend that pretty neck to drink it down.

“I’ll get you a cab,” he slurs, rocking unsteadily to his feet.

“I already called an Uber.”

Jesus. It’s a struggle not to roll his eyes. Fucking kids. Allergic to one night stands, couldn’t take a hint to save their life. Even Kessler is on his side, his head thunking against the bartop.

It's for the best, he thinks, trying to curb his disappointment. He's got shit to do. Ryan to worry about. Kessler's a right cunt, pushing him to you. He hasn't got the time to be fucking about. This entire thing had been a waste of time, too busy trying to get his dick wet to make the most of what he’s got left.

Butcher stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat, steps back, ready to split and stumble his way back home. He nods quick and sharp, tight-lipped smile to keep his frustration locked behind his teeth.

You show him your phone, make him squint to see what he’s supposed to be looking at. “My Uber is still a couple minutes away, so…”

Kessler picks his head up from the bar. He's a bloodhound for pussy. He picks up the leading edge in your voice before Butcher’s even done parsing your words.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Kessler drones. “You can’t even get it up, can you?”

“I’m damn well going to try.”

“What?” You laugh, swaying on your feet.

Butcher wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side. “Nothin’. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll keep you company. Make sure no nasties try to get you.”

The cold outside is bracing. You wrap your arms tight around yourself and this time Butcher’s too drunk to pretend he isn't staring at the way your tits press together.

It’s your idea. Really. The way you look up at him, the way your lips stay parted while the pair of you pace the sidewalk. You wrap your hand around his bicep and squeeze, eyes drifting slowly to the side, to the alleyway just a few strides away.

See? It’s your idea, honest. He drags you behind a dumpster, pins you to the wall of the alley, and shoves his tongue down your throat, yeah, but you moan so fucking loud and drag him closer. It takes longer than he'd like for your hand to stop massaging his chest and start fondling his cock, but you're a sweet girl - don't seem the type to do this too often. Need some guidance.

Butcher lays his hand atop yours, wraps your fingers tighter around his bulge. Your breath hitches, your eyes flicking down to your hand, mouth popped open - got this sweet, vacant little look in your eye.

He'd bet real money you go dumb for cock.

“$50 says you can get her to call you ‘daddy’,” Kessler pipes up, leaning against the wall next to you. He tips a cigarette into his mouth, cups a hand around to light it, and Butcher swears the light from his zippo gleam in your eyes. He doesn’t doubt it. Seems cruel, though, especially when he can’t remember your name.

“What was your name again?”

It takes a bit for you to get dick off your mind and fish around for your name. You mumble, make him lean in close and tilt his head to get you to say it again, clearer.

You're the obedient sort. Pick up on cues so easy. Don't even make him ask for it again. He pats your cheek, smirk creasing his face.

By your side, Kessler flashes a crisp $50. He plucks it taut, fans himself with it, makes a real show of being a dick while you try to take Butcher's out of his pants.

At the end of the day, 50 quid is 50 quid.

“How ‘bout you ask daddy for permission, sweetheart?”

Your mouth moves wordlessly.

“Please?”

He clicks his tongue. “That’s real polite. But it ain’t what I asked for, is it?”

“Can I please play with your cock, daddy?”

“Better.”

Kessler slips the fifty into Butcher’s coat pocket while you fumble with his belt and free him from his pants. You lay his cock in the seam of your hands, cupping him like he’s a gift on two legs. You stroke him reverently, look up at him with big, thoughtless lamb eyes.

Your heart’s in it, but you’re too reserved for his taste. He grips your hand in his and guides you down his cock, shows you when to squeeze, when to twist your wrist, how to flick your thumb over the slit of his tip.

He can never make it last when he drinks. Should have warned you before he came on your pretty skirt, but you’ve got a natural talent for stroking dick. He keeps his groan locked up tight. It rattles through his chest and he leans into you, crushing you against the wall of the alley. His hips stutter and rut into your hand, still wrapped around him, coaxing every drop from his tip. You still toy with him while he tries to catch his breath. He’s got to push away from you with a mumbled “Christ, all right, that’s enough.”

It’s like he’s taking your favorite toy away. You pout up at him, hand still molded for his cock by your side, by the skirt his ruined with his cum. He almost gets an apology out, but you drag a finger through his mess and bring it to your lips, make a show of licking it up.

His chest aches. He isn’t sure if it’s the tumor or his heart desperately trying to pump enough blood down to his dick to get him up again.

Butcher crams two fingers into his mouth and scrapes the dirt from beneath his nails with his teeth. The rest is a blur. He knows that he kicks your feet apart, traces your slit through your panties before he pushes them to the side and finger fucks you until your head snaps back against the wall. It’s quick, messy - leaves his forearm soaked. He’s not so sure that was real, but he’s too drunk to figure it out, too gone ask.

He tucks himself back into his pants. You set your panties back in place, skirt still hiked up to your ribs. You slip a little lower down the wall, panting. He stops you before you can slip all the way down, pats your cunt, and tugs your skirt back into place.

“Let’s get you a cab, eh?”

That’s the last thing he remembers clearly. You’d missed your Uber, had to take a cab with him anyway. He remembers you leaning against him, tucked up against his side, hand stroking his chest. He’d pet your hair - soft as lamb’s wool - and whispered nonsense against your head just to get a laugh out of you. After you get out, the whole thing’s blank.

When Butcher wakes up at 2 PM the next day, choking on his own vomit, he can't find the 50 quid. He turns his jacket inside out searching for it. A scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it falls from his jacket pocket. He doesn’t spare it more than a glance and keeps digging for his wallet.

Lambs lose their appeal after the flying cunts nearly bit his cock off.

That farm had been dirty business. Wicked stuff, the kind that doesn't wash off. This work always has been, but this time the blood doesn't come out from under his fingernails. He tastes bile every time he breathes. The copper twang of blood trickling down the back of his throat is the only chaser he gets anymore.

He doesn't think of you often. He knows it'd break your little heart to hear it, have you looking up at him with those ‘fuck me, I'm sad’ eyes and that little girl pout that makes him feel every bit the lech he is. You’re a sweet thing. Vacant, just like him. It didn’t take long to piece that together.

You’re easy and malleable, quick to fit yourself around him in whatever way he demands. He liked that about you at first.

But when he calls on you at three in the morning for a quick lay and you answer the door in a full face of make-up, hair done and wearing the sort of nightgown that no one actually sleeps in, all he feels is distaste.

You let him crowd you against your couch (a neutral color, no blanket in sight, your living room just as blank as the rest of you) without so much as a ‘hello’. You hook a leg over his hip. No panties, he realizes, eyes locked on your drippy cunt, already flushed. Been touching yourself to the thought of this. He warms a little at the thought.

Butcher wedges his knee between your leg and grinds. Any warmth you’d kindled with wet pussy dissipates the moment you moan so goddamn loud, the sound hollow and plastic. He keeps his leg still, flexes his thigh for you to grind on. His jaw tightens. He nearly shoves his fingers in your mouth to keep you from making those stupid fucking noises.

You let him twist you up however he wants, more a posable toy than a person. He pushes you further along the couch until your back arches awkwardly against the arm. You don't protest. Of course you don't.

His thick fingers trail down your slit, part your slick folds for his inspection. He sways back on his haunches, admires the pretty way he's got you arranged, pinned open on his fingers for him.

He brings his hand down sharply on pussy once, twice - and the third time directly to your clit is just because you kept making that annoying fucking noise. That nasally, porn-star whine that drills him between the eyes and makes his hard-on flag. The way you twitch and jerk at each hit might be genuine but that fucking noise drives him up a wall. Christ, there's got to be something about you that's real.

Pussy’s real. Can’t fake that, he thinks.

“Stay right there,” he says, a bite to his voice when you try to shift against him again. If you could just lay there and take it - is that so much to ask for?

He guides himself to you, hips rocking experimentally. You suck his head in and his chin dips to his chest. He groans deep. It turns to a growl when you raise your hips. He lays his forearm against you, pressing you down - and that moan might have been real.

“Can't you do fucking anything right?” He snaps. His hips push forward, bullying himself deeper into you. You suck a breath through your teeth, your hand bracing against his forearm. “I told you to stay right there.”

A spark of indignation flickers in your eyes, flash-fire flushed out by the same pitiful little lamb wool you pull back over your eyes. Makes you look all downy, plush and fuckable - he's fished more respectable shits from the toilet.

You’re a good girl for a few more shallow thrusts, lay there just like he wants while he works himself to the hilt. He finds his rhythm sloppily, one knee propped on the couch, the other foot planted on the floor. Your tits bounce with every thrust and he’s stupid enough to take his hands off of you, trust you not to move while he gropes at your breast.

Immediately you rise to your elbows, try to arch your back deeper. He’s positive you’re trying to mimic some video, down to the exact angle of your spine, but your heart isn’t in it. His cock butts against your walls, shallower than before, the pleasure that had been tearing through his blood coming to a screeching halt. He hisses through his teeth, grinding out his frustration.

“Don't –” his shoves you back down, hand flattening against your cheek and pushing your face into the couch. Feels fucking awful any other position. “–fucking move. Don't fucking move. Trying to cum. Goddammit.”

Your hands curl into fists by your head. You hide your face, press it deeper into the cushion and he presses your face deeper to help you. The noise you make is pitiful, but at least it's real.

Fucking hell. Now he’s completely out of it. You’ve gone and fucked up pussy for him. He didn’t think that was possible. He can’t find the angle he needs, can’t get back to that gummy spot that make his vision blur.

He pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, ignoring the little whine you make. You don’t raise your hips - god forbid you take a fucking hint - so he sits you up for him and wedges his dick back in. It only takes a few thrusts for him to realize this is worse. Tighter, dry, chafing his dick like goddamn sandpaper.

“Your cunt shrivel up or something? Feels fucking terrible.”

He snatches your wrist, pulls your arm back at an angle that makes you cry out, and fills your palm with lube. Can't even get wet on your own. Fucking Christ, he's got to do everything for you. Even has to curl your fingers around his cock, drag your hand back and forth until you final get the big, swinging fucking hint and jerk him off.

He meant to stuff himself back into your cunt, but at this point your hand will do. Six one way, half a dozen the other. At least your hand doesn't chafe.

You’re silent now. Small mercies. The only sounds are the slick of your palm working him over and his labored breaths. Your hand is clumsy at this angle, but he’s not going to risk letting you move and fuck it all up again.

Once he’s close, he drops your hand and flips you onto your back again. A big hand presses your knees apart, opens you up for him. You're still so pliable, even if the sheen is gone from your cunt. You try to fix your hair. If he notices the tears brimming your eyes, he doesn't say anything.

He lines himself back up with your cunt, dragging himself through your folds. Your knees knock closer with each pass of his bright red tip over your clit. He taps it once with his cock, expecting another produced moan to rattle the walls, but you only whimper, your thighs trying to close around him.

Butcher smirks. He pumps himself into you, keeps himself shallow - just the tip past your puffy lips. 

You whimper, try to shuffle down and take more of him. Butcher’s hand grips your face, squishing your cheeks so hard it stings.

“Don't you fucking move,” he grits out. You used to take instruction so well. Now you've gotten all up in your own head. Nobody likes an uppity bitch, he ought to make you see that.

What he really ought to do is make you get down there and jerk him off. Your hand is still slicked, but you'd probably piss yourself at the chance. Instead, he pushes your knees damn near up to your ears and barks for you to hold your own legs. Your hands curl around the backs of your knees. There you go. Figuring it out again.

His hand strokes his dick quick and hard, one hand dedicated to keeping himself just inside you. It doesn't take long for him to cum. It’s a slow burn that seeps up through his belly, lattices up his ribs and congeals in his chest, makes him ache and cave over your body while his hips sputter. He squeezes himself dry, pumps his cum into your pussy until it flows past his tip and seeps down onto your couch. 

Butcher lingers over you, catching his breath. He’s already gone soft, his cock dropped out of you. He sits back against the opposite arm of the couch, splays himself out while you curl up.

Something burns in his chest - remorse, maybe. You’re all curled up against your couch, cheek cushioned on your arm - won’t look at him, don’t paw at him or lean against his side, don’t even reach to clean yourself up.

His head knocks back to the ceiling. He can’t be bothered to pull answers out of you. He reaches for the tissue box on your coffee table, plucks a handful, and cleans himself off.

He tosses the box back to the coffee table and shoves his boots back on, barely taking the time to lace them up properly. He scoops he coat up from where you’d shucked it onto the floor, buttons himself back up, and you still haven’t moved. His eyes linger on you for a moment, brow set low.

Can’t be bothered, he reminds himself. He runs a hand through his hair and makes for your door, boots thunking heavily against your floors.

“Can I see you again?”

You’ve managed to pick your head up when he glances back at you. You sound so desperate it's pitiful. His lip curls. He runs a hand over his head, looks anywhere but you.

Christ, even your apartment is blank and devoid of personality. He hadn't noticed it before, too consumed with the need to get between your thighs. He shrugs, and gives you a lifeless smile.

“We'll see.”

Butcher closes your door behind him and hurries down the hall. He turns the corner to see Kessler’s cheshire grin greeting him in the dark of your stairwell.

He ought to get right with you before his time comes. He isn't proud of the way things ended. Butcher’s a right bastard, but he isn't blind; he'd seen the look on your face, the hopeful shine in your eyes dulling when he'd left you there without so much as a ‘cheers, love, thanks for the rub’.

He doesn't bother texting you. He's already posted up outside your apartment. Giving you a heads up would only give him time to pussy out.

Besides, you're home. He knows it. You’re piss-easy to track. Home to work, work to home, same route, same time. It will be easy to knock on your door, get his closure, and slip out of your life for the last time.

It should be easy. He’s had harder conversations with people who meant more to him but he keeps staring at your door, trying to will himself to knock. He’s not that weak yet. He can still raise his hand.

Butcher turns to leave just as you open the door. His shoulders tense when you call out to him.

“Billy?” You blurt out. There’s genuine surprise there.

“I just thought I’d –” He turns to catch a glimpse of you and it sends him headlong into silence.

You look a right mess. No face isn’t done up, an oversized t-shirt draping off your shoulders. Your pajama pants are fluffy, snowflake print - tackiest thing he’s seen in a while. 

You duck your head down, trying to catch his eye. 

“You okay?” You hook your thumb over your shoulder. “Want to come in?”

He doesn’t. Not even a little. He wants to rip the band-aid off, forget he ever met you and let you get on with your life - whatever it is you do. But you step to the side and fix him with a weak little smile that he thinks might be real, and his feet take him in through the door.

It’s a nice place in the daytime, he realizes. Natural sunlight, open floorplan, your shelves crowded with plants and knick-knacks he’s never seen. You offer him a drink, laugh when he says water and fall quiet when he insists.

You hand him his drink and collapse onto your couch. Your legs kick up onto your coffee table, and for the first time he realizes your socks are fuzzy, too. He looks around, scans you from head to toe. Is this the right place? He keeps picking at his nails, trying to free the grime from under them.

Once you realize he’s baffled, you’re merciful enough to start the small talk. It’s awkward and stilted - his fault, his answers halting and quick. You give him grace, sip on your drink. Your laughs never quite reach your eyes, but you scoot closer to him on the couch anyway.

“Why are you really here, Billy?” Your hand settles on his thigh and curls inward.

It’s not how he wanted this to go, but he doesn’t stop you from sliding your hand higher while he chokes on his words. You’ve got his belt undone by the time he manages to string a sentence together.

“I've been a right cunt to you.”

“Mhm.”

“You don't got to put up with it, yeah?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Got your whole life right ahead of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Fucking Christ, could you give him more than a noise? A few moments ago you’d held a conversation with him.

His irritation is snuffed out by your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock and sucking hard. Your hand pumps his shaft, twisting your wrist on the way back up. Good God, you learn quick.

Butcher could spoil you rotten if he had the time. He could get you whatever you wanted - if ever you wanted for anything. He cups a hand over the back of your head, encouraging, not guiding.

You’re methodical. You let your hand work what your mouth won’t reach, fondle his balls with the other one. It’s clinical. You’ve committed the moves to memory, when to swirl your tongue, hollow your cheeks, when to moan around him, when to look up at him with those tears straining at your waterline.

He finishes quick, his chest heaving. You pass him his water while you reach for a tissue box. He drains it and nearly misses you spitting his cum into a tissue, wadding it up and tossing it into the bin.

“I haven’t got much time left,” he says, breathless.

Your brow creases. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your lips swollen. “What?”

“I’ve got this –” he gestures nebulously with a hand, like he’s trying to pluck the right words out of the air. “– thing. In my brain, see? Inoperable. So, if I up and vanish on you, it ain’t personal.”

You stay silent, stone faced. He wishes you’d say something. Even one of the irritating platitudes people like to parrot would be better than this. Your eyes harden. You purse your lips, breathe deep, and stand from the couch.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Billy. It was good to see you.”

Butcher’s still trying to catch his breath. He tucks himself back into his pants, a mess he’ll clean up later, and rises unsteadily. You don’t reach out to help. He makes another nebulous gesture towards you, his hand quivering.

“You want me to..?”

“Nah. Don’t strain yourself.”

He stuffs himself back into his coat, watching your eyes linger - maybe realizing for the first time how much slighter he’s looking. Butcher pats your cheek gently as he passes by.

You don’t ask to see him again. For your sake, he hopes this is the last time.

[benkeibear]

『 You're a mean one Mr. Grinch 』

🎄synopsis: If you could use only two words to describe Sanemi during the holiday season it would be "the grinch". But just like his hairy, green friend, Sanemi does have a heart deep down - and it belongs entirely to you.

🎄character: Sanemi Shinazugawa

🎄reader: female

🎄cw: slightly suggestive for 2 sentences (It's Tengen, I can't help it), otherwise pure fluff

🎄notes: Merry Christmas @awkwardchick87 I am Tinsel the liddol elf for the @pixelcafe-network secret Santa! 🥹🫶 I hope you have a holly jolly season and that Mr. Grinch here shows up under your tree for real hehe. Also a big thank you to @hayatoseyepatch who helped me to make sure that Sanemi was in character!

Snow is falling all around us I fucking hate it, everything is slippery and shoveling snow sucks.

Children playing, having fun I hope they fall and bruise their tailbones.

It's the season, love and understanding you mean materialism and fake love…

The Christmas music was blasting from the kitchen and Sanemi couldn't help but scoff at the pretentious lyrics, adding his thoughts to each and every line.

If you only had two words to describe your husband during Christmas time, you wouldn't even need to ponder for a single second, the two words would come to your mind immediately - The Grinch.

“Nemi?” Your voice called from the kitchen as the songs switched, giving him exactly three seconds before the next one started playing, a moment of peace for his poor ears, he thought, as he slowly made his way to you.

“Can I turn the music down a little?” He asked as he rubbed his temples a little too dramatically, but your face said it all - he can turn the volume down but not entirely off.

Now that the music wasn't blasting through the entire house, the tense feeling seemed to disappear from his shoulders and he looked at you from across the kitchen island, cookie batter stuck on your cheek and flour coating your hair white and he couldn't stifle the smallest chuckle.

“Did you need my help, Mrs. Santa?” He asked teasingly, the flour in your hair aging you rapidly and you threw a freshly cut cookie at his face, the little star sticking perfectly to his forehead.

“You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch,” you quipped back and laughed at the way he ripped that star shaped cookie off his skin.

“What was that for?!” Sanemi sounded quite angry. “I mean… why did you do that?” He repeated his question much calmer, still working on his little outbursts that have become a lot less frequent.

“You called me Mrs. Santa! Do I look that old to you?” You asked amused and threatened to throw another cookie, this time it was shaped like a bell.

Sanemi walked around the counter and took a closer look at you with squinted eyes, studying you as if he really had to think about an answer, which made you puff your cheeks in feigned offense.

“Well… the flour does make you look like Mrs. Santa… But perhaps I just need to grow a beard to be your Santa then?” He asked and gently ruffled your hair in an effort to remove the flour, only making it worse, which did bring a smile to his face.

*plap* The bell shaped cookie got slapped against his cheek with a playful slap of your hand, making you laugh out loudly before running off, knowing he'd chase you to get back at you somehow - and you were right.

Sanemi chased you through the apartment, trying to throw the batter at your face but firing it against the wall and two windows instead before giving up and chasing after you without a makeshift cookie weapon. Neither of you knew how long you'd been at it, but when the smoke detector went off, you ran to the kitchen in an instant, the first batch of Christmas cookies looked more like the coal pieces that Santa leaves for the naughty children.

The next time Sanemi was painfully reminded that this is indeed Christmas season was when he walked into your living room and saw that tree standing there. What an ugly thing he thought to himself as he eyed it up and down - at least the shape was decent and better than the one from last year. With a sigh he went to the storage to get the ornaments ready for you, knowing that you'll want to put them on there sooner than later and he didn't want you to carry all these boxes… Just why did you have so much stuff for a tree??

The first note of the song came on as you decorated the tree and a shiver ran down his spine. He hated Christmas music, but this song was on top of the list of most hated songs - it just sounded so awfully nonconsensual.

Gripping the star that goes on top of the Christmas tree like a microphone, you dramatically got into stance to sing this duet he was sure you made him sing with you. You're so lucky that he loves you…

“I really can't stay,” you started to sing, but he refused to sound like some asshole, so he improvised his own lines.

“No problem, there's the door,” he grumbled and pointed at the door. Sanemi didn't even try to sing this, but he also didn't want to disappoint you - seeing you smile was what made him happy after all and if he had to embarrass himself like this, he would do so. Your smile was brighter than any Christmas star to him and singing a silly duet wasn't too bad after all.

“I've got to go away,” you continued and gave him the puppy eyes to act your part.

“I hear ya, say no more,” he mumbled and twirled you around once.

“This evening has been-” before you were able to finish it, he interrupted you.

“Totally consensual!” He butted in, which made you laugh at how he made his own version of this Christmas classic.

“My mother will start to worry,” you sang through your little giggle fit, already having missed a line, but Sanemi took a step back.

“Here's my phone, give her a call,” he chuckled, making the whole song sound a lot less creepy than it actually is. Both of you ended up laughing by the time the song was over, the Christmas tree only having one ornament hanging on its branches. Gently, Sanemi lifted you up to place the Christmas star on top before handing you various ornaments to decorate the tree, leaving this task entirely in your hands after you complained that he would clutter the tree. Granted, your first Christmas you almost shoved the ornament down his throat after he hung two red ones next to each other, but that is a story of the past…

The last time Sanemi was painfully reminded that it was Christmas Eve was when he sat under the tree like a pouting little child. His arms remained crossed as he waited for you to find him there - a red bow tied to a strand of his hair and if you looked closely, his cheeks were almost the same color from how embarrassed he felt to sit there. Both of you agreed to exchange your gifts on Christmas Eve already and while you got yours to put it under the tree for him, he went to get into position. Oh, how utterly stupid he felt and every second that passed only made him doubt his decisions more.

Sanemi never really celebrated Christmas before he got to know you. Holiday of love and giving… to love who? He had no family and it's not like he could do things like this with Genya. Giving gifts? He thought that was stupid, too materialistic. The white haired man was a firm believer that you should show your love to the right people every day of the year and not only on made-up holidays like Christmas or even Valentine's Day - but this changed once he found out that you're quite sentimental about those little things and that you don't expect anything expensive or lots of presents, just one small thing coming from his heart. So the first Christmas you two spent together, he gifted you his Haori - something too simple in his eyes, but you were so happy because you knew that this was his favorite. Unless it's in the laundry, you still wear it daily until this very day, well past your marriage vows, and you never fail to make his heart skip a beat whenever he sees you wearing it. But this time he had to outdo himself at least a little bit, so he went to none other than Tengen Uzui to ask for guidance. Did he hate every second of this? Very much so. It was almost humiliating to ask for help, yet he reminded himself of the purpose - you.

“That's just ridiculous!” Sanemi stood up, his head bright red at Tengen’s advice, who only shrugged with a smirk on his lips. A smirk that Sanemi wished to punch off his stupidly handsome face in that moment, but something started putting pieces together in his brain. If Tengen had three wives that adored him so much, his idea wouldn't be too bad, given he does it himself. Grumbling, Sanemi sat back down onto the tatami mats and Tengen's smirk grew into an excited one.

“I'm not going to wrap my dick with ribbon or stuff it into a box,” he exclaimed, knowing his friend's mind was running wild after he was the one suggesting these very things.

“Well, my wives do like to have a taste of my… candy cane… when I put a pretty bow on it,” he mused and Sanemi stood up once again, leaving this time. Too much information.

“Yeah, yeah, have fun, you pervert,” he mumbled and left the Uzui estate with a bright red head. Surely his best friend would have a better idea now that he and Mitsuri are together…

“I write poetry for her,” Obanai mumbled, his voice muffled and although he couldn't see him smile, his eyes were shining whenever he was talking of her.

“I can't… I'm not good with words or emotions and that shit,” Sanemi answered, deeply in thought. He could ask Obanai to write one for you, but it wouldn't be from heart. It would be the words of another man and just thinking about another man telling you how much he loves you made his blood boil - even if it's in his name.

“Just try it,” the short man encouraged him and swiftly moved to bring him paper and a pen to write before leaving him alone with his thoughts and a tea, surely he will think of something.

It's been two hours since Obanai checked in on his friend, so when he went to his living room to see how the poet is faring, Sanemi was long gone. The stack of papers was empty, crumpled up pages littered the room, which frustrated the Hashira. Next time they meet, he will have to face the consequences of trashing his estate - although reading these poems out loud to you should serve as enough punishment with how bad they were.

Just as he was about to stop reading them, as they made his skin crawl with how truly bad Sanemi was to express his words, one caught his attention. It surely wasn't a masterpiece, but for what it was, it was sweet and heartfelt. Obanai smiled to himself as he straightened the paper out, intending to send it to you in a secret letter.

“Roses are red, Violets are blue, With every wild wind, I'm thinking of you.

Your laughter's like thunder, In the quiet of night, A spark in my heart, You're my guiding light.

I'm rough around the edges, and my hair's a mess. You see through the storms and love me nonetheless.

So here's to our chaos, and the battles we face, In a world full of danger, you're my favorite place.”

Now Sanemi was sitting under the tree, a bow in his hair and a small box hiding in his pocket. While he went home, frustrated with the poetry session, his engagement ring caught his attention - it shimmered beautifully in the sun, just like your eyes. He made sure to choose a gem that came closest to his favorite color, and you wore an amethyst on yours to represent his eyes.

“The eyes are a window to the soul after all,” Sanemi whispered the words you told him on your first date when he looked everywhere but at you since you made him uncharacteristically nervous.

Although you've been together for all this time, the nerves crept up as he waited for you to return to the living room, hoping you'd like the necklace hiding in the small box, an amethyst placed neatly in the middle of a decorative piece that looked like a whirlwind. And perhaps you'll like the big present even more, as it sat there, waiting and pouting for your return…

Network: @pixelcafe-network